


Horizons

by Ysobelle



Category: SHINee
Genre: Angst, Business, Difficult Decisions, Established Relationship, F/M, M/M, Marriage, Multi, Polyamory, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-16
Updated: 2017-08-21
Packaged: 2018-10-06 01:27:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 23
Words: 85,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10322387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ysobelle/pseuds/Ysobelle
Summary: From being kids to having kids. And families. And businesses. And lots of decisions to make. Because sometimes? Adulting is hard.





	1. Chapter 1

It was so faint. Almost more a feeling than an actual sound. A thin wire into my brain: a baby crying. Wailing: a heartbroken scream of loss and abandonment.

 

I chuckled. So much for Minho’s “I’m gonna sleep in tomorrow.”

 

My shoulder ached as I sat up, and I rotated it cautiously: slept on it funny again. Just what I needed today. It was Tuesday, and there would be a tower of book cartons waiting to be unpacked and shelved. I turned my face into the sunshine coming through the window and soaked up a last few moments of inaction. Ibuprofen. Ibuprofen for breakfast. Yes.

 

“I heard you laughing,” came the voice from the bathroom. “Did you have a good dream?”

 

“No,” I yawned, dragging myself blearily from my down-comforter nest, “Schadenfreude.”

 

He was standing by his sink in nothing more than a big fuzzy green bath sheet, slung low around his hips. He’d toweled his hair to mere dampness, and it hung over his eyes as he unzipped his shaving kit. It was a very nice sight first thing in the morning, and I snuggled, semiconscious, against his back, damp as it was. It wasn’t particularly cold in the flat, but I’m a lizard when I first wake up, and warm is warm.

 

Jonghyun, love of my life, partner of six years, and possessed of the patience of saints, said nothing, and a moment later handed my toothbrush back over his shoulder, Colgate included.

 

I brushed away, amused at the strange harmony of the bristles against my teeth tuned to the hum of his electric razor, vibrating through his body into my ear. I remembered mornings at home when I was small, listening to my Dad shaving in the bathroom down the hall while I lay mutinously in my bed, trying to pretend that if I didn’t actually get up, I didn’t have to go anywhere. Some things never change.

 

We finished our respective tasks at our respective sinks, and, slightly more presentable, met in the middle of the counter for a morning kiss. Yes, much better.

 

“So why were you happy about the fall of your enemies?” he asked, dropping kisses against my hair. 

 

“Bah. Remember last night? After dinner? Minho just went on and on about having the day off, and how late he was going to sleep, and being smug. He must have left the windows open: I just heard Mina screaming her head off about something. So much for his sleeping in.”

 

“You are nothing if not vindictive,” he snorted indulgently.

 

I could neither agree nor disagree with the statement, and ignored it in favour of nibbling along his jaw. “So what’s on your agenda for today?”

 

He rubbed his hands down my spine. “I’m meeting King at the office at 11, and we’re taking the boys out to lunch to talk.”

 

“All eight of them? Are you taking a chaperone? Extra wrangler? Fire department?”

 

“They’re good kids,” he laughed.

 

“Oh, I know. But they’re also ferrets on crack. In a ball pit.” 

 

He flicked a finger against my forehead. “If we sign them, I’m making you babysit them.”

 

“Okay, but then where are you going to find someone else so international, beautiful, and sexy to keep your bed warm?”

 

“I’ll just have to start dating Kibum.”

 

“Oh, like he doesn’t have enough trouble.”

 

“Mm. You have a point.”

 

“Besides, he’d make you bottom sometimes and that makes you whiny.”

 

“I’d get to wear the Chanel collar, though.”

 

“Okay, now _you_ have a point.”

 

“Anyway. What’s on your schedule? It’s Tuesday?”

 

“All day.”

 

“No more lifting three boxes at once, okay? That’s why you have assistants.”

 

“Yeah, yeah,” I rolled my eyes, stripping off my sleep T and deliberately dropping it on the floor. He tsked and picked it up as I turned on the shower. I turned on the massage setting when he wasn’t looking— he didn’t need any more incentive to nag me to watch my shoulder. He had that down pat.

 

Jinki’s car was gone from the underground garage when we got there, though Jisoo’s car was not. Minho and Eunji’s cars were there. Taemin’s was there. Kibum’s car was in its spot, with Silver’s car on one side, but Clara’s, on the other side, was empty, as it had been for two very long weeks, now. Ominously. My car was there, but since Jjong was headed in at the same time, I got to play hooky from driving this morning. 

 

He put on the demos from the Ballpit Ferrets (as I now, of course, affectionately had to call them in my brain) for the drive, and I could see the gears turning in his head as the chaos of Seoul traffic sped past. I knew it was no good trying to talk to him when he was in this headspace, and I put my head back and closed my eyes. G-d, I was tired. Happy, but tired. And a little sore. My voice a little shot. He’d been feeling particularly energetic and athletic last night, and I certainly hadn’t minded. A challenge always got him going in multiple ways, and what was going on at work was a prime example. He was amped up about this little cadre of self-taught, independent dancers and singers, and he wanted to sign them so badly I could see him salivating. I couldn’t blame him: they were young, hungry, and brilliant: just like he and his brothers had been twenty-some years ago. They just needed polish, discipline, and money. They needed an agency. They needed Jonghyun.

 

“You’ll land them, jagiya. They’re smart kids. They’ll pick you.”

 

He laughed, frown of concentration lifting for a moment. He took my hand and held it to his mouth, lips moving over my skin. “You’re the best, jagi.”

 

I sighed, setting back again. “You say that now, but just wait til I get you a Chanel collar of your own.”

 

“Ha! Maybe I’ll put it on you, hm?” His shot me a look dripping with promise as we pulled up in front of my shop at last. 

 

“Oh,” I purred back. “You can try. If you think you can take me.”

 

“Didn’t I prove that last night?” He leaned closer, his eyes flicking almost imperceptibly fast to the street— all clear.

 

“I demand a rematch, then.” I leaned in, catching his mouth, losing myself for a moment before I had to send him off. I’ve always been sentimental: it was the best part of the day, and the worst, this saying goodbye stuff. But such was life: businesses don’t run themselves.

 

I sucked his soft, lush lower lip between my teeth and bit, just hard enough to make his breath catch, before opening the door and sliding out. His eyes went dark as he slid the window down, and I grinned, looking back as he slid his tongue over the teethmarks, touching a finger to them slowly.

 

The gleam in his eye turned wicked. I braced myself slightly.

 

“By the way,” he said. “Remember you said Minho and Eunji must have left their windows open last night?”

 

“…Yyyes?” I said warily, frowning.

 

His grin was evil. “So did we.”

 

There was a pause, and then realisation hit me. Ah, fuck.

 

He was laughing at me as he drove away.

 

 

 

 

 

I was good, I promise. I made Eunhee and Minhyuk cart the boxes in, and shelve anything too high or too low. I also bribed them with way too much really good coffee from the shop across the street. But I was still mildly sore, so when a text from Jonghyun came through that evening offering a ride, I was all over it. Not having to jostle myself on the subway sounded grand.

 

_**Me** : And how did your meeting go?_

 

_**Boy Thing** : I picked up dinner. _

 

_**Me** : Oh, damn. That good?_

 

_**Boy Thing** : Hopefully. _

 

_**Me** : We close the windows tonight?_

 

_**Boy Thing** : Possibly turn on the stereo, too._

 

_**Me** : So…if you land them…?_

 

_**Boy Thing** : …Vacation in the Himalayas?_

 

_**Me** : Somewhere neither of us is gonna have to walk for a while, that’s for sure._

 

_**Boy Thing** : I love the way you think._

 

_**Me** : Yeah, yeah. You’re lucky I love the way you think, big boy._

 

_**Boy Thing** : See you at six!_

 

Everyone else had gone by the time I locked the door of the bookshop and folded myself into the slightly obnoxious and definitely ostentatious money pit that Jjong called his car. There was a large shopping bag in the passenger footwell with a familiar Italian logo splashed across it, and the whole car smelled incredible. I involuntarily moaned. 

 

‘Take me home, baby,” I whispered at him with my best seductive look. “Make it fast.”

 

He giggled like a delighted toddler, and the car shot forward before I could even fasten my seatbelt. Impatient, I started grilling him about the meeting, and it did indeed sound good. 

 

The eight young men had been active together in the indie scene in Seoul for about a year and a half, and generating a buzz. They mixed pop, jazz, R&B, and even a touch of traditional Korean into their self-composed music, and they were all spot-on dancers. They were clever, socially conscious, and politically-minded. They were funny. They were also ambitious, and knew their worth. Jjong and King, his partner in the boutique agency, knew it too. They also knew the boys were being courted by at least one other agency, though they weren’t sure quite which one. It was going to come down to personalities, and I was fairly confident my man would win out. But then, I was biased.

 

He was always animated and enthusiastic when he talked about music, and I loved listening to him expound on his passion just the way he always listened to me go on about books. He was a flood of excitement all the way home, and still going as we parked. But he faltered a moment as we got out. Sitting next to Kibum’s pretty little road monster was a sleek red two-seater. Clara, it seemed, was back. 

 

I looked at Jjong, and he looked at me, and we both shrugged in resignation. 

 

“I’m sure we’ll find out all the details soon enough,” he sighed.

 

“And at the most inopportune moment possible, I’m sure,” I added.

 

He groaned. “As long as the rest of the neighbourhood doesn’t find out at the same time. Again.”

 

I took his arm. “Food. Now. Come on. Masterpiece Theatre can wait til tomorrow.”

 

 Ah, if only I’d been right.

 

 

 

 

 

We did make it through dinner, I can say that. It was this fantastic lobster ravioli in a sauce with olive oil and baby octopus that was just…mmm, nom. He’d gotten the garlic rolls, too, and I would swear my toes curled. I managed to eat lightly, though, because I was rather looking forward to dessert. From the look in Jjong’s eyes, so was he. Speaking of toes curling.

 

But those eyes were still sharp as ever, and in the middle of my telling him about a really nice interaction I’d had with a small school in Jongno-gu that needed fifteen copies of “an important American children’s book” that they wanted me to suggest, he rose from the table and came around behind me, rubbing his hands together quickly to warm them before putting them on my shoulder. 

 

“It still hurts?”

 

I sighed. “Yeah.”

 

“I got you. Go on. Which book did you choose?”

 

I was in the middle of trying to explain the relative merits of “Little House On The Prairie” versus “Charlotte’s Web” when I started to lose the thread of my own speech. He’d unzipped the back of my dress, and pushed it off my skin to get better access, and he was digging his fingers into the exact spot where a stupid accident with a carton of art books on 17th century ceramics three weeks ago had wrenched my shoulder blade in all the wrong directions. A quick trip to the hospital for a checkup had revealed no lasting damage, but I wasn’t 20 any more, and it was taking a while to stop annoying me. 

 

While never having had anyone know my body better was, obviously, a recipe for quite mind-blowing sex, it was also a great advantage for really therapeutic massages. Not to mention the sensitivity and empathy that made him a stellar songwriter gave him a sixth sense about where, exactly, everything hurt, and how to make it feel better. In just a few minutes, I went from contrasting and comparing two classics of American children’s literature to unable to form a coherent sentence. Three minutes more, and the sounds coming out of my mouth weren’t even vaguely coherent. Though they were, I should admit, highly suggestive. 

 

Until the knock at the door.

 

I bit back a far more frustrated sound as he sighed and called out, “Who is it?”

 

“It’s, er, me.”

 

“Come in, dearest,” I called, just as Jjong resumed a particularly focussed attack on a sore muscle, causing me to gasp loudly.

 

There was a pause. “Uh…are you sure?”

 

“It’s fine, Taeminnie,” Jonghyun called back. 

 

There was a tapping at the keypad, it beeped, and the door opened very slowly. Even more slowly, two large brown eyes under a blond mop peeked with incredible caution into the room. There was a long pause as he took in the scene and figured out precisely what was going on, before the rest of the maknae emerged into the room.

 

Taemin had come home from his military service just a year ago. His shoulders were even broader, now, though he’d retained his lithe dancer’s build. He stood straighter and was more direct in his approach to everything. He’d definitely completed the switch from Taemin to Taemax. But he was still adorably shy at times, and easily flustered. Like now, for instance, with his ears flaming like the Beacons of Gondor. 

 

“Uh,” he said, “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

 

“It’s okay,” I grinned. Even with my dress off one shoulder, I was still quite decent. Though my right arm hung limply at my side, slightly numbed from Jjong’s ministrations. 

 

Taemin’s expression turned to one of sympathy: he knew all about old war wounds. “Shoulder still bad, noona?”

 

I nodded. “I’ll survive. I have the world’s best massage therapist, here.”

 

Jjong snorted. “So what’s up?”

 

The younger man sighed, closing the flat’s door behind him and sprawling his long limbs in Jonghyun’s vacated chair. “You can probably guess. You parked downstairs, right?”

 

“Clara has returned?”

 

He nodded. “Some time this afternoon. Out of nowhere.”

 

“I thought she’d gone back to Paris? Was never coming back? Never wanted to see any of us again?” I said.

 

“Well, she liked me,” Taemin shrugged.

 

“Everyone likes you, Taeminnie,” I reminded him. He blushed a bit again.

 

“So have there been any fireworks?” Jonghyun asked, pushing into my muscles again until I groaned. 

 

The younger man looked worried. “I haven’t heard anything, but….” He shook his head. “You know how they all get. It’s complicated. I’ll never understand.”

 

I smiled wryly. “That’s because you’re made of sunshine and lollipops, sweetheart.”

 

The pink spread from his ears down across his face, and he ducked a grin against his shoulder. “Well. Um. Anyway. I’ll let you both.…” He gestured vaguely, turning back to the door. “Sorry to have interrupted. If anything explodes, I’ll let you know.”

 

“Make sure you knock again, darling!” I called after him.

 

“Try mailing an announcement first!” Jjong added as the door closed.

 

I leaned back against his stomach and looked up, one brow raised. “What do you think?”

 

His fingers drummed on my skin as his eyes unfocussed for a moment. “Do you want me to answer that as his friend, or as a member of SHINee?”

 

“Both?”

 

He broke out of his reverie to meet my eyes. 

 

“If she hurts him again, I’m throwing her off Banpo Bridge. And they will never find her body.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

Clara Choi. Runway darling. Kibum’s and Silver’s lover. Walking drama festival.

 

She was American, as I am, though born on opposite coasts: she in LA and I in DC. But she was Korean American, so Key fans didn’t have quite as many conniptions as Jonghyun fans did when he started dating my red-headed ass. Though, of course, no one had quite so many conniptions as they would have had it been years ago, when they were all in their 20s, and their fans in their teens. Everyone grew up, everyone calmed down.

 

Okay, not everyone.

 

I couldn’t blame Kibum. Clara was brilliant and funny and heartbreakingly beautiful in a delicate, almost fragile way. No one who saw her could fail to read her broken past in an instant, and twitch to protect her. But the two of them were like those little relaxation ocean-in-a-bottle things everyone had in the 90s: coloured water and oil swirling in a glass jar: beautiful to look at, but never completely mixing. 

 

It was Silver who kept them together, more often than not. He was the glass jar: surrounding them, protecting them, but with everyone wondering if one day, there’d be a titanic shattering, with a horrible bloody, swirling mess all over the floor. Silver was resilient, but he was only human. 

 

He, too, was an artist, because Kibum. But his art turned more to the hard-edged street art of hip hop and politics, graffiti and EDM. He was quiet and thoughtful, almost cold when you first met him. But underneath, he was shy and warm and passionate about life. He didn’t love easily, but he loved hard. And he loved Kibum and Clara.

 

I wanted to love her, too, since I loved Kibum like a brother, and wanted him to be happy. But their relationship was…tempestuous. When it was good, the three of them were a perfect triad. When it was bad, it was like a tricycle missing a wheel, dragging sparks off the pavement. They’d been doing this dance for over three years, now, and it was only the natural antipathy of Koreans towards cynicism that kept the rest of the building from starting a betting pool on how much longer it would last. But me being American, I could hear the clock ticking. I just hoped it wasn’t attached to a bundle of dynamite.

 

She made her appearance the following night, as we all gathered in Jinki and Jisoo’s flat, two floors below ours. Their little girl, Soohyun, had a fever, so it was time for a quiet night in. Quiet, but still sociable, as any night when all the boys had no prior engagements was rare. Minho’s latest movie had wrapped the week before, and Jinki’s new musical didn’t start rehearsals for another week. Jjong didn’t have a working dinner. Taemin actually didn’t have a date. And Key…well, the triad was in the Honeymoon Phase— for the moment.

 

We’d had a light dinner and all settled down in front of Jinki’s bewilderingly large TV to watch the umpteenth MCU movie with his equally bewildering sound system (after carefully checking the white noise machines in the kids’ rooms). We all sprawled across the massive leather sectional and massed cushions on the floor, making his living room look like a very clean opium den. I had the lounger, wrapped around my lover, who sat between my legs and reclined against me, while I lay my head on his shoulder and ate the popcorn he accurately put in my mouth without even having to look. Minho was draped on the couch beside me, his six miles of leg stretched out before him, with Eunji’s head in his lap. He idly spun their baby monitor on the sofa by its antenna, the other hand fanning his girlfriend’s hair across his knees. Jinki and Jisoo sat side by side on the cushions, legs entwined, sharing rice snacks, their baby monitor tucked into Jinki’s breast pocket. Taemin sat on the floor at the far end of the sofa, his fingers drumming happily on the squishy pillow he hugged. The centre of the field of pillows remained empty for the moment. It was reserved for three. _Don’t wait for us_ , Kibum had said. _We’ll be up in a minute._

 

We started the movie, and all pretended we weren’t holding our breath.

 

If you want to make an entrance without making an entrance, it helps to not have two divas in your party. And yet, somehow, they managed it. The movie being loud and everyone being very, very quiet probably helped. But there they were, suddenly: Kibum, Silver, and Clara, taking their usual spots on the cushions, quickly becoming a single entity. And if Clara looked a little paler even than usual, and Kibum and Silver wrapped around her a little more closely, no one said a word. I just looked down at them, all tangled together, and sighed to myself. The three of them looked so good together. If only….

 

Jonghyun put another piece of popcorn in my mouth, and his fingers stayed to trace over my lips, and gently brush my cheek. I kissed his ear, and lost myself again in superhero fights and alien weapons tech.

 

Two hours later, everyone was far more relaxed. I was trying to recalibrate my brain from English back to Korean so I missed part of the conversation; by the time I came back to myself, Clara was helping Jisoo clean up the snackfest. G-d bless Jisoo: she was the sweetest human on two feet, and she innocently loved everyone. She hadn’t a mean bone in her body, and we all loved her to death. And Jinki? We had all seen his train of thought derail mid-sentence when she walked by, and Taemin once giggled that he’d actually witnessed glitter come out of his hyung’s eyes when Jisoo spoke. They’d been introduced, oh, eight years ago, now, at a party, and from what I’d been told, the building had shaken when their eyes met, and everyone had started checking their phones to see when they all had time to schedule a wedding. Jinki and Jisoo hadn’t— they’d been too absorbed in staring into each others’ eyes.

 

Jisoo always believed the best about anyone, so I wasn’t surprised she simply accepted Clara’s return with no fanfare, and I blessed her for it. The two of them came back with drinks for everyone, and we just settled in, lazy and relaxed. If Kibum’s eyes strayed to Clara when she wasn’t looking, and if Silver touched her and Kibum both as if he were grounding himself, and if Clara herself was comparatively subdued and no one mentioned her absence or sudden return, I wasn’t going to make a point of it. It was a mellow night— a rare night of everyone together, with the spring air rolling in through the open windows and the lit spike of Namsan Tower glittering in the distance over the cityscape. 

 

And it would have stayed a good memory if I hadn’t come upon Kibum crying on the roof three hours later.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It took a long time for the tears to stop. I could only guess how long he’d been holding them in. But they slowed, quieted, and with a hitched breath, he sat up a bit, pushing the tissue roughly against his face. He huffed a bitter laugh.
> 
> “I’m such an idiot.”

 

By the time the baby monitor went off in Minho’s hand, Mina's wails tinnily filling the apartment, we were all in a beautifully relaxed state. Taemin, an extra-super-lightweight drinker, was all the way to sleepy from his one beer. So we all parted ways happily to our respective floors, contentedly calling it a night.

 

I had the next day off; Jjong had twenty-three meetings, six photo shoots, eight live appearances, and a warship christening scheduled. Or something. He’d given me the run-down, but he’d also been working on my shoulder again, so I wasn’t entirely listening. I just knew it was going to be a long-as-hell day for him, and I promised, like a good, loving partner, to have a good nap in his name.

 

For the time being, though, I couldn’t sleep. The spring air was too invigorating, and my mind was going too fast. After a few hours reading in bed, I gave up, grabbed my robe, and climbed the stairs barefoot to the rooftop garden, planning on staring out over the nightscape and counting the lanterns on the ancient city wall. There was a gorgeous little garden up there, and a pool— even a hot tub and some exercise equipment. The boys had built their block of flats from the ground up, and they’d known exactly what they wanted. (Practise rooms and recording studios in the sub-basement, if you’re curious.)

 

The solar lights cast a dim, gold glow along the perimeter of the roof, and I leant on the cool, brushed steel railing, resting my chin on my arms. It was beautiful up here. It was beautiful in my adopted city. I had a man I loved who loved me, I had good friends, I had a solid business, and if I sometimes felt that maybe, just maybe, there was something else I needed to figure out, issues I was afraid to look at too closely, well, I had enough now to keep me happy. Everything else would either sort itself out eventually, or it wouldn’t. I had my emotional security, if nothing else, right? I was lucky. Life was definitely okay.

 

So why was I hearing someone cry?

 

It took me a minute to orient myself. The sound was so soft, but someone else was up here, and from the sounds of it, broken. Part of me hesitated for a moment, but the rest of me was already moving, and on the other side of a graceful ornamental willow in a white ceramic cauldron, I found the source, sitting folded up on the floor against the wall, head in hands. Lost.

 

Kibum.

 

He hadn’t heard me. I knelt next to him and laid a hand on his shoulder, and his whole body jerked in surprise. 

 

“Noona! What— what are you up here for?” He turned his face away, rubbing at his already too-red eyes.

 

I reached into the pocket of my robe, pulling out a crumpled but clean tissue for him. “Baby, what is it?”

 

He took the tissue, but set his jaw, keeping his face averted and closed. More tears rolled down his sharp features, regardless. 

 

“Kibum…?” 

 

But he only dropped his head, and as I slid my arms around him, he leaned against me, and sobbed.

 

I soothed him, petting his dark blond hair and rocking him gently, saying the nonsense things that come out when you don’t know what the hell to say. I told him it would be all right, but I could only guess why he’d be up here in the middle of the night, crying his heart out under a willow tree. I hadn’t heard fireworks, and the building was still standing, so I had to assume there had been no blowout with Clara, so what could it be? Where was Clara? Where was Silver? I couldn’t know, so I just sat and rocked him, and let him cry.

 

It took a long time for the tears to stop. I could only guess how long he’d been holding them in. But they slowed, quieted, and with a hitched breath, he sat up a bit, pushing the tissue roughly against his face. He huffed a bitter laugh.

 

“I’m such an idiot.”

 

I still had my arm around his shoulders. “You’re not. But you want to tell me why you think so?”

 

“There’s no reason. There really is no reason. It makes no sense.” He shook his head. “No sense.”

 

“Did something happen after the movie?” I asked quietly.

 

He laughed again, and the sound was self-mocking. “No. We went back home, and it was like nothing had happened. Like she never left. She just asked us if we could forgive her, and we said yes. Like we always do. And we fell into bed and fucked each other senseless, and it was so good. Just having her back…it was so good.”

 

I brushed his hair back. “I don’t get the feeling these are tears of joy, though.”

 

“No,” he whispered. “They’re not.”

 

I waited, patiently, and the tears started rolling down his face again. He drew in a shaky breath, and turned his temple against my shoulder.

 

“It’s always going to be like this. She’s never going to change. It’s always going to be so good, until it isn’t, and she’s always going to leave us again. I love her, but I can’t hold on to her.”

 

I wanted so badly to console him and give him platitudes, but Kibum was not stupid, and neither was I. I bit my lip, thinking.

 

“Kibum, people do change,” I finally said, still stroking his hair. “She loves you and Silver. You know she does. She just…she has a lot to work out. She’s young, she’s been through a lot. She’s…she’s trying, honey. I don’t think she’s ever meant to hurt you.”

 

He laughed bitterly. “Good intentions for the win.”

 

I sighed. “Well, yeah. I don’t…I don’t know. Maybe things will be different this time?”

 

“You don’t sound very convinced.”

 

“I don’t want you hurt, honey. Or Silver. I _like_ Clara. I do. I just don’t like seeing you get turned into collateral damage.”

 

He shook his head, wet lashes sliding shut. “It’s too late,” he whispered coldly, jaw set.

 

I put my head down on his and just held him, feeling his tears roll down my shoulder, though silently, now. There was nothing else I could think to do. I despise lying— and Kibum could see through a lie from five miles off— but what truth could I give him? I didn’t know what to do. 

 

And then I looked up to see my lover standing there, wide-eyed, staring at me cradling his brother on the floor.

 

We were frozen there, for a long moment, confusion and dismay rising in Jonghyun’s eyes. I tried to think of something to say, but nothing came out. There was no sound save that of Kibum, still crying softly, unaware we had company.

 

And then Jjong stepped forward, folded gently to his knees, and fitted himself flush against Kibum’s other side, his arms over mine, so that we wrapped him in love and comfort. 

 

Kibum’s head jerked up, but he wasn’t surprised to see who it was. “Hyung….” he started, but broke off.

 

“Did she leave again?” Jjong asked gently.

 

Kibum shook his head. “No. But you know one day…one day she will.”

 

Jonghyun let out a long breath, wrapping his arms tighter around Kibum’s shoulders. The three of us sat there, Jjong and I petting and consoling Kibum, reassuring him, spilling love over his skin, until the tears slowed, and he sighed. 

 

“I always do this, don’t I?”

 

Jonghyun’s mouth twisted wryly. “Fall for the impossible ones? Yes.”

 

“She’s not impossible!” he protested weakly.

 

Jjong and I exchanged a look over his head.

 

He sighed again. “Silver isn’t impossible.”

 

“That’s better,” I said.

 

He was quiet again for a while, thoughtful. Jjong and I petted him gently, not pushing. I tilted my head back, looking up at the stars. It was peaceful up here. I felt like we were small animals in our burrows, our problems so tiny. And all the answers out of reach. G-d, how depressingly philosophical.

 

“You love who you love, Kibum,” Jjong said at last, soft, “and you just love hard. That’s always been you. And you like bright things. You like fire.”

 

“A match from the gods,” Kibum murmured.

 

“You want to be someone who loves on command? You want to control that?”

 

He shook his head. “No. But I wish I could.”

 

Jjong’s eyes met mine as Kibum ducked his head against Jjong’s shoulder. My lover smiled lopsidedly at me. “If you only love when it’s convenient, you miss out on a lot.”

 

I breathed out a gentle laugh. Wasn’t that the truth?

 

Leaning forward, I kissed Kibum’s still damp cheek, brushing away the faint tear tracks. As close as Kibum and I were, he and Jonghyun were almost brain-mates, and I knew there were some things he was still uncomfortable discussing in front of me. I ducked down to catch his eyes. 

 

“I’m going downstairs. You  will get through this, sweet one. You will. No matter what happens, or with whom. Okay? We all love you.”

 

He reached out a moment and squeezed my hand. But his eyes had already turned away.

 

I unfolded myself from the tile floor, biting back a groan as my sleeping legs protested, and slid a caress down Jonghyun’s warm neck. “I’ll see you in a bit, love.”

 

He nodded, and mouthed thanks to me. I nodded back, and padded back to the stairs, pausing at the top to look back at them, Jonghyun’s dark head against Kibum’s light, the younger curled into a tight ball in the older’s arms. There was nothing anyone could do. There was no way we could stop the fall if it happened. All we could do was cushion it, and remind Kibum there would always be people who loved him. 

 

I made my way back to bed.

 

 

 

 

I don’t know how much later it was I felt the bed dip behind me, and warmth slide against my skin. I sighed and worked my body back against his, adjusting to his arm under my head, and his other hand working between my breasts to curl next to my heart. He nuzzled into the side of my throat, and I stroked his arm.

 

“It’ll be okay, Jjong.”

 

He was silent, and I felt him sigh softly.

 

“I love you, Jjong.”

 

Again, the silence was long, but he tucked his head against my shoulder, his arms tightening even as his breathing slowed.

 

“I love you,” he whispered before we slept.

 

 

 

 

 

Next morning, he was gone well before I got out of bed. A thermos of tea sat on the nightstand, though, and I blessed him all over again as I poured the liquid wakeup down my throat. It was a morning of errands, and meeting a bunch of friends for lunch— a new place with, I’d been told, the best jjangmyeon any human had ever consumed— before my phone rang while I was whiling away some time in Myeongdong and specifically not calling the shop to check on an order and make sure the place hadn’t, oh, burned down or something in my absence. 

 

It was Jisoo, and my eyes widened. Uh oh.

 

I slid the phone open. “Let me guess: Soohyun still has a fever and you need to take her to the doctor.”

 

“Oh! Unnie, you’re psychic,” she said, her normally unflappable tone a bit flustered. “I just got Chanhyuk down for a nap, and I thought, if you were home, if you would— I’m sorry to ask, but—“

 

“Jisoo! I’ve told you over and over, it’s no problem. Of course I’ll help. I’m in Myeongdong; I’ll be there soon as I can. 20 minutes?”

 

“Oh! No, no, I thought you were upstairs. No, it’s fine—“

 

“I’m already at the subway, Jisoo.” I laughed. “Besides, if I stay here any longer, I’ll just spend money.”

 

She sighed. “I’ll make you dinner. Jonghyun won’t be home til late, yes?”

 

“You don’t need to do that, I swear,” I said, grinning as I skipped down the stairs to the subway. 

 

“I’ll make you my special shrimp pasta.”

 

“Oooh, you know how to strike at my soul, Jisoo. I’m texting him now to tell him he’s on his own for food. And I am also-- oof!-- getting on the train. I’ll see you soon!”

 

Poor Soohyun looked much the worse for wear when I arrived shortly thereafter. Her cheeks were flushed, and her usually happy mouth set in a pout. I knelt on the floor in front of her while her mom bustled about, getting ready to run out the door.

 

“You don’t feel so good, huh?”

 

She shook her head mutinously. “I’m hot,” she whined.

 

I touched her cheek softly. “Aw, sweetling, I’m sorry. But momma’s going to take you to the doctor now, and they’ll make you feel a lot better, right?”

 

She nodded dubiously.

 

“And then when you get home? You know your mom’s going to let you eat in bed like a queen. Queen Soohyun!” I waved my arms in the air grandly.

 

Despite herself, she giggled, and it was adorable to see Jinki’s eyes light up in her beautiful little 3-year-old face.

 

“Come, Your Majesty,” Jisoo said, coming up behind me. “It’s time to get in your carriage now!”

 

With a long-suffering sigh, the mini-monarch slid off the chair and held her arms up to mummy. Jisoo swept her up on one hip, hiking her purse up the opposite shoulder. 

 

“Thank you so much!” she said again.

 

“No, it’s not a problem, I promise.”

 

“I just changed him, and he ate, so he’ll probably sleep until we come back.”

 

“I have a book, I have my phone, I have a charger. I’m good. If anything happens, I can always take him upstairs with me. Go, don’t worry.”

 

She gave me a look of undying gratitude, hugged Soohyun to her shoulder, and they were gone. 

 

I stepped into the nursery quietly, and leaned over the crib. Chanhyuk, all of six months old, was out cold, his little mouth open, his tiny limbs sprawled in loose-limbed abandon. His adorably pudgy little face had yet to show signs of either of his beautiful parents— at least in my eyes, though the arguments in the building raged hotter every day. I moved his teddy bear a bit further from his face, and found my thoughts straying down a familiar path for the hundred-thousandth time.

 

Screw it. Let him sleep, check your email, read your book.

 

He did indeed sleep the entire time Jisoo and Soohyun were gone, which was good. Curling up with my book in their window seat in the sun, I’d found my own eyes sliding shut more than once. Sheer willpower, stubborn pride, and a few brisk walks around the room were the only things keeping me awake by the time I heard the familiar tapping at the front door, followed by the beep of the keypad. Jisoo looked as serene as ever, but Soohyun was flat passed out in her arms, drooling slightly on her shoulder.

 

I got up to take the purse off Jisoo’s other shoulder, and she gave me a silent, grateful look as she padded down the hallway to her daughter’s bedroom. By the time she came back, some minutes later, the kettle had already boiled, and two mugs of tea had just begun steeping on the counter.

 

The look she gave me at the sight was one of pure bliss, and she sighed happily as she got down the sugar for her and the honey for me. “You are a life saver.”

 

I shrugged. “But without the giant hole in the middle.”

 

Her startled look caused me to clamp a hand over my mouth— it wouldn’t do to wake the kids— and a quick explanation as she moved about the kitchen, pulling out pots and ingredients. There may have been a Google Image Search involved.

 

“I’ll pick you up some the next time I’m home,” I said.

 

“Ah, are you going back any time soon?”

 

I gestured vaguely. “Maybe? I know the boys are planning on going into the studio next month, and sometimes, that _feels_ like I’m 7,000 miles away, so it’s as good a time as any. And I owe my brother a birthday present. Or, like, three.”

 

She shook her head. “Just give us warning. Jonghyun mopes when you’re away.”

 

I may have blushed. “My giant baby. I just have to make it up to him when I come back.”

 

Jisoo glanced at the windows. “And I’m sure you do that very well.”

 

I definitely blushed. “So! Shall I de-vein the shrimp?”

 

She tucked away a small, knowing smile, and handed me the bowl.

 

An hour later, as the pasta was coming out of the pot and meeting its shrimpy, saucy counterpart, the keypad beeped, and Jinki was home, taking his shoes off in the foyer and exchanging silent “Are the kids napping?” looks with his wife. She nodded, and he came into the kitchen quietly, kissing her hair as they held each other a moment. I smiled as I busied myself with silverware.

 

“Go check on them,” she said, after giving him a quick rundown on what Soohyun’s doctor had said. “She was so tired she passed right out on the way home. We got snacks, and the medicine makes her sleepy, but if she wakes up, she’ll be hungry.”

 

Soohyun was, poor thing, still dead to the world, but Chanhyuk showed signs of waking. And of being in desperate need of a change. Jinki made quick work of the matter, emerging with a sleepy-but-clean baby as Jisoo and I finished setting dinner out. 

 

It was lovely, sharing a meal with the two of them and their baby. Chanhyuk really only had two speeds: sleeping, or laughing, and Jinki and Jisoo were straight out of a 50s romantic movie. I fully expected they did sweeping dance numbers in the living room when no one else was around. They were the kind of couple who knew they had something rare and beautifully intimate, but always made people around them feel included, not intrusive. Their whole family was incredibly soothing. It was hard not to feel really lucky to know them.

 

The windows were open and the skyline was twinkling by the time we finished. Chanhyuk had decided a single piece of linguine was his new best friend, and was sharing secrets with it in Advanced Babble. He was obviously slowly deflating, though, nap notwithstanding. Eventually, Jisoo rose to take hm to bed, and Jinki and I cleared the table. Without even having to ask, he poured me my favourite mocktail, and pulled a bottle of soju for himself and his wife. We were back at the table with cheese and grapes by the time she returned, and he handed her her drink with a kiss. The only light in the apartment was the hanging chandelier set on dim over the table, and it was so deliciously peaceful. I sighed contentedly.

 

Hours passed, trading stories and companionship. Jisoo had been a travel agent before she had kids, and still kept up on the industry, intending to go back when the kids were older. Between the two of them, the couple had probably been everywhere in the world, and they always had the best tales. Jisoo had spent three weeks in India, once, and I never tired of hearing about it. She was describing the philosophy of a very old monk at a rain-soaked temple when we heard little feet shuffling down the hall, and a very bleary-eyed Soohyun appeared, one fist rubbing her eyes, the other half in, half out of her mouth.

 

“‘M hungry,” she slurred.

 

To our only-slight surprise, she bypassed Mom and Dad, and came around the table to me, holding her arms up. I pulled her into my lap, and she immediately shoved her fingers into my curls, burying her face in them and sighing contentedly. We all chuckled.

 

“Don’t chew Jageuneomeoni’s hair, dumpling,” Jinki admonished her gently. I’d come away several strands short more than a few times over the years, and we all still remembered Soohyun’s absolute screams of delight the first time she’d seen “Brave.” It took her forever to accept that I wasn’t hiding Angus from her, and she was only soothed in the end by vague promises of a ride some day in the indeterminate future, and only if she was very good. Where the hell I was going to find a Shire horse in Korea was anyone’s guess, but I figured I had a few years to work that out.

 

Jisoo put a plate of fruit, cheese, and animal crackers down in front of her, with a homemade tuna fish samgak-gimbap in the middle. Soohyun relinquished enough of my hair to replace it in her mouth with the rice and seaweed. She made quick work of it, too, sitting quiet in my arms as the grown-ups talked, though once it and a couple of grapes were gone, she turned into a deadweight again. I tucked her up closer and smiled. 

 

Jinki was regaling us with a rundown of bars the boys had hopped on a very bizarre night in Thailand— seriously, there was a hairy black pig and a stolen flag of Jamaica somewhere in there— when there came the beeping at the door, and the night became that much better: Jonghyun was back.

 

The mood, and the sleeping child in my arms, ensured his silence as he slipped off his shoes and came over to us. Jinki got up for another glass, as my man came around the table, leaning down to kiss me, and stroking his fingers through Soohyun’s hair. I looked up at him, and he looked down at us, and for a moment, we were both very, very still. 

 

Jinki came back with the glass. Jonghyun took it and sat, joining in the conversation. I held Soohyun just a little tighter, and sipped my drink.

 

Soohyun wasn’t the only one who’d had a long day, and eventually, Jinki’s eyes started to glaze. Jisoo noticed first, of course— thought I wouldn’t have been surprised if she’d already known via some psychic connection— and she smiled gently at him and took the soju glass out of his slightly loose grip. He startled, then looked at her with an abashed smile. She and I rose gently: she to help Jinki to bed, I for Soohyun. Jonghyun began gathering up the glasses, popping the very last animal cracker into his mouth. Waste not, want not.

 

I had just gotten the completely limp mini-monarch into her bed when Jonghyun joined me. Between the two of us, we pulled her sparkly green dinosaur blanket up over her, and bent to give her kisses. I could feel him watching me. He came around the side of her bed to me, then. But I couldn’t meet his eyes.

 

“Jagi—“

 

I rolled my head on my suddenly-tense neck and let out a tight breath. His hand landed on my shoulder, and I patted it with my own. “It’s fine. Just…let’s just….”

 

He slid his hand further up, into my hair, and pulled me against him. I put my forehead against his chest, my hands on his hips. His arm curved warm behind my back. But I couldn’t relax. 

 

“I’m sorry,” I whispered.

 

“It’s okay,” he whispered back. “Let’s go home.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I really didn’t think we were all that crazy, honestly, but oh, well. As Jane Austen once put it, “For what do we live, but to make sport for our neighbors, and laugh at them in our turn?”

 

 

 

I was sitting on the bed going over an invoice on my phone when he came out of the bathroom, boxers and nothing else. I just looked at him a moment. G-d, he was beautiful. 

 

When I had met him, he’d just finished his military service, and joked about how now he was out, he was going to turn lazy and fat and I wouldn’t be attracted to him any more. I laughed and slapped him every time— he had a body to die for, and had for decades, now. Broad shoulders, beautiful arms, a narrow waist, strong legs— the classic Grecian ideal, beautifully muscled and graceful. Though with a bigger fig leaf. He had a dancer’s way of moving, too, and from the moment we’d met, I couldn’t take my eyes off him. None of it was hyperbole. I wasn’t a kid any more. I’d been around the block. I’d lived in multiple countries and dated many men and oh, man, I’d seen some things, but there was nothing, nothing, _nothing_ in this world, animal, vegetable, or mineral, that affected me the way he did just walking by. And he told me every day, in word and deed, that he treasured me, that he loved me, that he would do anything for me. For six years.

 

So how the fuck had we gotten here?

 

I dropped my eyes back to my phone. 

 

He came to kneel on the bed beside me. I switched off the phone, spinning it aimlessly in my hands. I could feel him watching it, too, but neither of us spoke, and the silence thickened around us. It was the kind of silence in which a clock would echo. But the clock we were hearing didn’t make any sounds.

 

“We don’t have to talk about it,” he finally said, quietly, bowing his head. “It’s okay, jagi. It’s late.”

 

“Jjong, I’m sorry, it’s just…I want…I just _need_ ….”

 

He put his hand on my knee, but that only made it worse. His gentle understanding wasn’t any good to me at the moment.

 

“It’s okay—“

 

“It’s not, Jjong. It’s not. How the fuck do we reconcile this? How do we both get what we want?”

 

I finally met his eyes— his beautiful, endlessly deep eyes, and I wanted to cry. I loved him. I loved him so G-d damned fucking much— why wasn’t that enough?

 

“To do that,” he said softly, “You would have to know what you want. And you don’t.”

 

“No,” I said. “I don’t.” I found my nails digging into my palms. “Jjong, you would be an _incredible_ father. You would. Without question. You were born for it.”

 

“Do you think you wouldn’t make just as good a mother?” His tone was gentle, but I felt something akin to panic spiraling up inside me.

 

“I don’t _know_ , baby. I just don’t _know_. I…you know I love the kids, and I spend time with them all the time and I love them and they love me, but kids of my own? I can be so lazy, and so selfish, and do I want kids enough to change all of that? Would I start resenting them? And would I be able to handle them by myself when you’re in Japan or the States or anywhere else? Or just locked in the studio for weeks? I am fine— I am _fine_ — with you doing all of that because I signed on for it, and it’s part of you and I’m so fucking proud of you, but what happens when it’s 3am and I haven’t slept in a week and I have a baby with colic?”

 

“We get help. You are surrounded here by help. You would never have to be alone if you didn’t want to be. We’ve been though this, jagi.”

 

“I can’t expect Jisoo to come running every time I need a nap—“

 

He reached out and touched my face, trying to calm me down as I got more agitated. "Isn't that what you just did for her today?" I blinked, my brain stopping short.

 

“You’re thinking like an American again," he said gently. "You _can_ ask, and you _would_ ask. And they would help. Eunji and Jisoo would be here whenever you needed. Okay, maybe not Clara, but Silver would. You wouldn’t be alone. And I think we both know my mother would do anything you even hinted you needed.”

 

I half laughed. “Oh, G-d, she’d hire me a fleet of nannies and night-nurses and buy me a spa for the weekends.”

 

His mouth twisted wryly. “Yes. She…she would love another grandchild. You know how she feels about kids.”

 

“You’d think, after a thousand years teaching kindergarten, she’d have had her fill.”

 

“Well, now she’s retired, she only has a few to play with, and she’s greedy.”

 

I tried to laugh again, but it just wasn’t working. 

 

He scooted up to the headboard, turned down the bed, and pulled me to him, curling me up against his chest, between his legs, cocooning me.

 

“Love, I don’t want to push you into anything you don’t want. You know that, yes?”

 

I nodded. “I know. And I’m not flat-out saying no. You know that?”

 

He nodded in turn.

 

“I wish….” I rubbed my hand across his chest, his beautiful abs, his arm. “I love the way things are with you now. I love you, and I love this life. But…I also know that we’re running out of time. We’ve been going around with this for a year, and now I’m another year older, and I still don’t know. How do we even find a neonatal doctor who’d touch me?”

 

“Well. Do you mind if I sound insufferable for a minute?”

 

“Only for a minute?”

 

“Brat.” He flicked my forehead. “Love, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but…I’m kind of a big thing.”

 

I raised my head slowly and gave him such a look. He grinned. Even more so when I looked down at his boxers, considering. “I suppose you are.”

 

He burst out laughing, and kissed me. “Thank you for the endorsement.”

 

“I call it like I see it.” I settled against his shoulder now, so I could see his face, feeling a little better with the somewhat lightened mood.

 

“No, seriously,” he continued. “I’m just saying…I _am_ a big thing, here, and finding a doctor willing to take care of you and deliver our baby wouldn't be difficult.”

 

_Our baby_. I had to admit, just the words made me hot and cold and somehow dizzy around my heart. The fantasy of a little girl with his feline eyes and perhaps auburn, wavy hair gave me pause. A long pause.

 

He stroked a hand down my arm, and asked what I was thinking. I told him. 

 

“Mm. We would have some very pretty children. Especially the more they take after you.” 

 

“Are you fishing for compliments?”

 

“I?” he affected a scandalised expression. I rolled my eyes. 

 

“You know full fucking well you’re hot. And if you didn’t know, I will open the window and let your millions of fans tell you so.”

 

“I think it’s a little late. I wouldn’t want to wake anyone.”

 

“Oh my G-d, Jjong, your ego.”

 

“I thought you like the parts of me that are big.”

 

I looked up into his eyes, and very, very slowly, let my hand drift down, scraping my nails down his abs, lower and lower, until he bit his lip, pupils expanding. His whole body jerked slightly as my fingers came to rest, teasing, on the front of his boxers. 

 

“Some certain things, yes,” I murmured. And stroked. And whispered: “I like them even more when they get bigger.”

 

Happily, the windows were already closed.

 

 

 

 

Dragging myself out of bed the next morning was OMG not fun. For once— _once_ — he had a late morning, so I took care to leave him undisturbed. Unlike last night. Bless his stylists, I thought, looking at the purple flowers across his collarbones, the long red lines down his back, and the curve of bite marks under his jaw. They teased him about the “fire dragon” he lived with, but good-naturedly made it all disappear for the cameras. Me, I could just throw on a scarf if I really cared, but I spent much of my time in my office, and my staff was used to it all, anyway. Though I was probably going to have to do some stretches for my hips, today. And…probably not sit down too much. 

 

I should, of course, note that it hadn’t always been quite so breezy. At the start, back when we first began dating, and livid bruises and scratches and aches and pains began to show up over and over, there were some tense moments. People who’d only known one of us thought the other must be some kind of monster. People who knew the both of us flat-out thought we needed an intervention. I found out much later there had been some stern talks from Jinki and Minho. But apparently, those talks ended with a lot of embarrassed, amused, and possibly awed laughter, and we both got some very funny looks for a while. I didn’t find out exactly why for weeks, but when Jjong finally told me, Minho’s at-the-time bewildering atta-girl punch in the arm and approving, “You get him, noona” suddenly made sense. 

 

I really didn’t think we were all that crazy, honestly, but oh, well. As Jane Austen once put it, “For what do we live, but to make sport for our neighbors, and laugh at them in our turn?”

 

I left him coffee on the nightstand, with a thank-you note I knew he’d probably be keeping in a pocket all day, and drove myself in. I was going to have to spend the morning arguing with a distributor I didn’t particularly like, but I was determined to have everything straightened out by lunch, so I could get out and not eat at my desk again. A walk was going to do me a world of good, today.

 

At least, that was the plan. But as usual, my plan went pear-shaped by 10am, and it was nearly two by the time my stomach whimpered at me so piteously I had to pay attention. I stood up a little too fast, and was wincing and considering the benefits of yoga when Eunhee stuck her head around the doorframe and stammered, “You, uh, you have a visitor.”

 

I grinned shamelessly at her bright pink ears, and cocked a hip against my desk, just looking at her a minute and enjoying her discomfiture shamelessly. “Oh, really?”

 

“You…yes.” She shot me a withering look as her cheeks crossed the line from pink to crimson, and I couldn’t help laughing.

 

“Tell Taemin to come on back, would you?”

 

She actually whimpered and pierced me with a death glare as she disappeared. I loved her so, so much, but G-d, teasing her was irresistible.

 

Taemin thought so, too, because he was definitely turning on the charm for her, chiding her for not yet trying a restaurant he’d suggested his last time in. Though he had never grown the smallest malicious cell in his body, he was no less a brat in his thirties than he’d been in his teens. Well, like I could talk right now.

 

“You said you liked mushrooms, right?” he was saying as he followed her in.

 

She gulped, eyes fixed on his face. “Y-yes.”

 

“Well, go! I’m not lying to you, I swear. Stuffed with crabmeat and pancetta. How can you resist?” His wide eyes were utterly guileless.

 

“I…really don’t know,” she said weakly.

 

“I’ll bring you some next time I go. How would that be?”

 

She blinked. Possibly gaped. “Yeah. Uh— I…I have to…uh….”

 

“Eunhee, did Dr. Richter come in for his textbook?” I stepped in, smoothly as I could. Someone needed to show some mercy around here.

 

“I’ll check!” she all but squeaked, disappearing as if she’d dropped through the floor. 

 

I fixed Taemin with a stern look. “You are a cruel young man.”

 

His grin only got wider. “She’s cute. I like her!”

 

“You will flirt with anything on two feet, I swear. Either ask her out, or stop teasing her.”

 

“You wouldn’t mind if I asked her out, noona?” He was still grinning, but I didn’t miss the look in his eye.

 

I considered a moment. “If you broke her heart, I’d lose one of my best-ever assistant managers. And SHINee would lose its maknae. Slowly. Painfully. In a manner which involves much blood and possible disassembly. And probably a long, fruitless police search.”

 

He swallowed. Not grinning. “…I have a date tonight, anyway.”

 

“Wise man.”

 

“So!” he cleared his throat. “Have you had lunch?”

 

“What are you planning, Taeminnie? I don’t trust you.”

 

He very nearly pouted. Almost. “Nothing. But I’m between classes, and I have time off.”

 

My head snapped around to my desk calendar. “Oh, jeez, it’s Thursday. I’d forgotten. You know it’s after two, right?”

 

“And you still haven’t eaten, right?”

 

“Shut up.” I grabbed my bag and sailed past him. “Minhyuk! Eunhee! Going for lunch!”

 

“Don’t burn anything down!” Minhyuk called back, singsong. Eunhee just whimpered.

 

Going to lunch with Taemin is always an experience. I was used to stares of my own— what with the bright red curls (which I usually wore in a tight chignon while working) and being obviously American. But even with his blond hair shoved under a cap, and wearing a mask, Taemin just moved differently. I knew idols who were his friends, and a lot of them had that same quality: that look of movement even when they were standing, and water or air when they were moving. Taemin was solid, but he also somehow managed to look like a breeze would make him spin like a Alexander Calder sculpture.

 

“Where are we going?” I asked him as we set out. “Stuffed mushrooms with pancetta?”

 

He laughed. “Something light. I have three more classes this afternoon.”

 

“How are the kids doing?”

 

His face lit up. “They’re doing so well. I have the youngest first thing in the morning now, and they’re like little birds. We’re up to eight, and they all get along, and they laugh so much. It’s hard to get them to focus sometimes.” He mimed little birds with their beaks. “It’s cheep! cheep! chirp! all morning. And then they start to dance, and they’re elephants!” We both burst out laughing, and I tugged him into one of my favourite cafes. They knew me, what with my shop being two blocks away, and they knew I sometimes came in with a little star power. They seated us discreetly, in the back behind a potted tree. What’s this week with trees in pots, man?

 

“How are the other classes?”

 

He took off his mask and tapped his menu, thinking. “I have two kids who moved from the beginner class to the advanced class in a week. I love that. They love it. I have one kid who needs to go from intermediate to beginner for a bit. He’s not so happy. And then I just started an evening class for high-school kids, and I have some faces I’ve seen before, and it’s good. It’s good to see them back, and mostly happy.”

 

The server came, then, and took our orders, slightly wide-eyed at my company, but excruciatingly polite. Taemin smiled that smile at her, and she dropped her pen, shaking her head at herself as she picked it up and sped back to the kitchen.

 

“Stop that,” I said.

 

“Stop what, noona?” Oh, the innocent look.

 

“Disassembly, Taemin.”

 

He looked down, hiding a smile. We chatted about various things as our drinks came, people-watched a bit, before I picked up the thread again.

 

“So you were saying: mostly happy?”

 

“Ah. Yeah. Mostly. There’s one girl….”

 

“A girl, Taemin?”

 

He looked horrified. “No! No! She’s in high school!”

 

“I owe you some teasing. Go on.”

 

He swallowed the rest of his panicked look, and cleared his throat. “Anyway. She’s been in my classes before. You know, none of these kids have a lot. They’re all from…bad homes, or problem families, or, just, you know, bad things have happened.”

 

I nodded. “Which is why you’re a saint, but that’s another matter.”

 

He snorted, but the look on his face was serious. Our food came, then, and it took a few moments to resettle. He was still thinking as he started his pasta, and I gave him space.

 

“She’s a good kid,” he said, finally, “and she has talent, and I could easily introduce her to some people who would hire her in a couple of years, if she still wanted.”

 

“That’s great!”

 

“Mm. The problem is I’m afraid she’s going to give up before she gets there.”

 

“Ooo. Why?”

 

“She’s one of five kids. The rest are all boys. And their mother died three or four years back. Her father loves her— he comes to pick her up after class and always thanks me. But….”

 

“She has to take care of her brothers?”

 

“It’s not even that. Yes, two of them are younger, but…I don’t know if this is going to make any sense.”

 

I put down my fork. “Try me.”

 

“Four boys. Her father. None of them really understand how much she loves to dance, or why.  And then there are no other women in her life, and I think…I think she misses that. You know my partner Suji? Who runs the school when I’m away?”

 

“We’ve met a few times, yeah. I like her.”

 

“Everyone likes her. She’s really energetic, and encouraging, but she’s also really calm. And I see this girl…she’s drawn to Suji every time she sees her, but Suji’s running a school and she has her own family and she doesn’t have time. So I’m worried this girl is just going to, I don’t know. Burn out?”

 

We both sat a few minutes in silence, eating our lunches and thinking. My mom had been sick for almost a year when I’d been in high school, and even though she was right there still in the house, it felt like she’d been a million miles away. I’d understood, but I’d been a kid. I knew exactly where Taemin was coming from. I knew exactly where this girl was coming from.

 

Manners dictated that I, being older should have paid the tab, but Taemin always insisted that they didn’t apply because I was American. It was an old fight, and I didn’t always let him win, but he was sneaky. He was also bigger than me. And could always catch a server’s eye faster. And besides, he made eight million times more than I did, so fine— he could pay for my salad.

 

We chattered on again on the way back, but my mind was still running on its hamster wheel. Something he had said had nudged something in my brain, but I couldn’t quite…something he had said….

 

We were right in front of my shop when I stopped dead. “Taemin!”

 

“What’d I do?”

 

“No, no! I have an idea.”

 

“Okay?”

 

“You said Suji is energetic but calm, and people are drawn to her, right?”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Who else do we know like that?”

 

He thought a minute. “Well, I guess…Jisoo…?”

 

“And who could really use a little help with the kids now and again? Maybe just a few hours a week?”

 

His eyebrows rose and his eyes crinkled in a slow smile. “Noona? You are a wonder.” And he swept me up in a huge hug. I laughed and hugged him back, but then swatted his arm. 

 

“You hug me out here in the street like that and six hours from now, AllKPop is going to have a story that I’m cheating on Jonghyun with his brother.”

 

“Nah,” he smiled, pushing his mask up his nose a bit. “We’re not in the news cycle this week. Too much else going on. I have to get back for the next class, but I’m gonna talk to Jisoo tonight. Thank you so, so much.”

 

“Anything for you, dearest. Have a good class!”

 

He waved as he took off. “Sell lots of books!”

 

I went back inside feeling pretty upbeat. Which was good, because there was indeed a photo on Twitter not even two hours later. 

 

Ah, well. I can’t be right about everything.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eunji’s face was a flat grey cloudscape, with thunder rolling in.

 

 

Eunji was not having a good day.

 

More to the point, Mina was not having a good day, which technically meant _no one_ was having a good day.

 

There were noodles on the floor. Noodles on the rug. Noodles on the dinner table. Noodles in her hair. In fact, pretty much the only place with no noodles was her stomach. Which was a problem, since she was very, very hungry.

 

“All right, Monster, what is it you want, then?” Eunji sighed wearily. “You’ve thrown everything else away. Do you just not want dinner?”

 

“Nooooo!” she wailed, as only a two year old can. I prayed for the miraculous onset of temporary deafness.

 

Eunji pinched the bridge of her nose. “Do you know what you _do_ want?”

 

“NOOOOOOO!” the purple-faced toddler screamed, at pitch and decibels that angered dogs across the nation. I prayed for death.

 

It was with utmost, giddy relief I heard the keypad and the door, and Minho skidded into the room, a look of horror on his face. “Oh my G-d, what— what—? I heard her outside in the street!”

 

Eunji’s face was a flat grey cloudscape, with thunder rolling in. “Your daughter..,” she began.

 

Minho’s shoulders rounded slightly. Nothing good ever came of that phrase. Without a word, he went over to his now-sobbing child who held up her arms and wailed for appa. 

 

“I’m sorry I’m late,” he said meekly, barely audible over his offspring.

 

“Feed. Her.” Eunji’s look was death. “At this point, I don’t care if she eats candy bars and dirt.”

 

Minho turned without a word, and took his wailing issue into the kitchen. 

 

Silence. Oh my sweet Lord, blessed silence. I could feel my brain begin to settle again like fake snow to the bottom of a snow globe. Eunji took in a long, deep breath, and let it out very, very slowly. Then she looked up at me, a perfectly gracious smile on her face. 

 

“Now, then. You were saying?”

 

“I…was…uh, right— just going to ask if you’d like to join Jisoo and me and some of my friends at brunch on Sunday. Since Jisoo’s mom is taking the kids, we thought we’d try out the French place in Samcheong-dong we were all talking about the other day.”

 

“I would love to. Absolutely love to.” She paused. There was a strange, faint noise coming from the kitchen. A musical noise. She turned to follow it, and with a faint sinking feeling, I cautiously followed.

 

Mina was sitting on the counter, her face clean and bright, singing a happy, tuneless song as she stuffed great handfuls of banana into her mouth while her father made funny faces at her. There was not the slightest trace of Tsunami Mina to be found. Her peaceful, ecstatic expression made the Gerber Baby look like Danny Trejo. I stood there next to Eunji and stared in wonder at this changeling child.

 

Minho looked up and saw us, and chirped, “She’s been on a total banana kick the last three days. That’s all she wanted. More banana!”

 

“A banana kick?” Eunji said calmly.

 

His smile faltered. “Yeah. It’s what I’ve been feeding her— all she wanted.”

 

“Did you think, perhaps, that might have been useful information to give me before you went out for the day?” 

 

I slid one foot back, slowly. If I could get out of the kitchen, then maybe I could—

 

“Well, where did you think all the bananas went?” Minho cracked, just short of rolling his eyes.

 

It may have been the look of horror spreading over my face that clued him in, but he suddenly froze: Bambi watching the truck speed right at him.

 

“I’ll…see you later,” I said, backing away until my spine found the doorframe.

 

“I’ll let you know about Sunday,” Eunji said, not taking her eyes from her mate. “I’m fairly positive I’ll be available.”

 

I nodded dumbly, turned, and bolted for the front door, praying I could make it to the elevator before the bomb went off.

 

Mina’s wasn’t going to be the only voice the neighbourhood heard tonight.

 

 

 

 

 

I’d be lying if I said it hadn’t shaken up my thinking a bit. I lay in the dark beside Jjong that night, sweat cooling and heart slowing, and thought, “That’s the kind of thing he’d do. That’s totally the kind of thing he’d do. He’d be thinking of eighteen things at once, and he wouldn’t even realise he hadn’t told me something important.”

 

Thoughtful, I carefully untied his wrists, rubbed them for circulation, and put the toys aside, curling into his body as he stirred and put his arms around me, eyes still closed. He tucked his head into the crook of my neck and murmured something in, I think, Japanese. I stroked his newly-silver hair and cradled him to me, soothing him, as I stared into the dark. He wouldn’t be a father like Jinki or Minho, but then, I wouldn’t be like serene Jisoo or cool, firm Eunji. I didn’t know what I would be. So that made two of us. Jesus. So many variables.

 

But…still. Our child. Our baby. I saw Chanhyuk’s laughing face and Mina’s screaming maw in my mind, and could draw no conclusions. 

 

I curled his body tighter against me, and let myself drift off.

 

 

 

 

 

Sunday was awesome. Okay, mostly.

 

I have some really good friends in Seoul, and they make my life worthwhile sometimes. It had been hard, when I’d first moved over nine years ago, chasing a publishing job that evaporated less than a year later. I was too settled to go home, but I didn’t know how to stay. And I loved the city passionately already, even though my Korean was haphazard at best, and utterly nonsensical at worst. Thank G-d by then I’d met some fabulous expats, who introduced me to their friends, who introduced me to more friends, and before I knew it, I had a social circle. I had support. I had strong women to prop me up, which, I’ll admit, still surprised me, considering the ingrained misogyny of my adopted country. I hadn’t expected it. It saved me.

 

After the food, and after a lot of mimosas, there came the gossip. Which I wasn’t always able to follow, since I didn’t work in corporate Korea, but which always amused me. Sometimes, it was entertainment news gossip, and invariably, everyone would look at me— or, in this case, Eunji, Jisoo, and me— and try to judge the veracity of this claim or that based on our expressions. I had been offered some pretty tasty snacks as bribes to give it up about certain actors or idols everyone knew Jonghyun and/or I knew, but it was, for the most part, in good fun. Everyone loved gossip, but everyone respected discretion. I’d gotten a reputation for giving good advice, and keeping a plethora of secrets. 

 

I also had a reputation, deserved or not, for being some sort of bizarre rebel, simply because I was a foreigner. My friends loved me, but they would often tsk over what they deemed to be my unwise life choices. Every third lunch, someone would make a joke about my boyfriend not marrying me yet, and every second lunch, someone would make a joke about—

 

“You need to have a kid of your own, you know, and keep the dynasty going!”

 

Lee Yeonseo, bank manager and norebang queen, had never had an opinion she didn’t voice. I had been astonished at first at the comments she would make, but over the years, I’d come to understand that that was just the way, here. From which part of my face I should have redone to how many kids I should have, I’d heard it all. Today was a little raw, though.

 

I laughed, brushing it off and gesturing to Jisoo and Eunji. “Like I’m not surrounded already?”

 

“Not enough!” Yeonseo pointed a leftover breadstick at me. “You should all be having more kids. Those boys are beautiful. Make more of them. A boy and a girl. One for each of you.”

 

“He raises the girl and I raise the boy, eh?”

 

There was laughter all around the table, though another expat friend of mine, Amy, a surgeon from Pasadena, married to a ballet dancer who wrote poetry in his spare time, raised her glass. “Strong women, and sensitive men!”

 

I toasted her with my orange juice, and there were many approving laughs. But Yeonseo had the bit between her teeth today. 

 

“Ah, why not? Have a whole baseball team, and they can moonlight as a dance troupe.”

 

I looked at her in unfeigned horror, and she waved a hand dismissively. “No, probably not. You’re too old now for that.”

 

Ouch. That one had hit the mark. “Thanks.”

 

Amy’s eyes met mine, but I just smiled. Nine years, and I was almost used to it. Almost.

 

It was Eunji who saved me, though. “There are days I don’t even want mine, I swear. My husband got our daughter addicted to bananas, and didn’t tell me!”

 

I shot her a grateful look, to which she imperceptibly nodded, and excused myself to the bathroom while the conversation skewed off to Minho’s near-death experience.

 

I was coming out of the stall when Amy came in from the table. She chuckled, shaking her head. “I love her, but man. Sometimes.”

 

“Yeah. She means well, but there are days I long to be back with my grandmother in Asheville, where you never talk about how much money anyone makes, and you never say the word ‘cancer’ above a whisper.”

 

“Okay, but you say all the things once everyone’s gone home.”

 

“Well…yeah, there’s that.”

 

The door opened again, and Eunji was there. I instinctively cringed.

 

“No! No!” she said, holding up her hands in defense. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay. I saw that face you made.”

 

I rolled my eyes. “I swear, I’m fine! Really! She just, you know…really, it’s fine.”

 

“Jonghyun’s been at you again, hasn’t he?”

 

Amy made a little “oh” of comprehension. 

 

“What? No! I mean…I mean, yeah he sort of brought it up, but…it’s fine. I promise, it’s fine.”

 

“You don’t want kids?” Amy asked, though gently.

 

I sagged against the wall, sighing. “Fuck if I know, man.”

 

We all laughed a little. 

 

“You have time,” she soothed.

 

I shook my head, glancing at Eunji. “I’d have more time if we were home, but here? Here I’m practically a grandmother.”

 

“Oh, fuck that,” Amy scoffed. “You’re the same age here as you would be there. You want kids, fucking have them. You don’t, don’t.”

 

“Well, that’s…a pretty direct way of looking at it.”

 

“I’m a pretty direct person.”

 

It was Eunji’s turn to snort. “You’re practically Korean.”

 

Amy’s smile was warm, and she bowed to Eunji. “I take that as a compliment.”

 

I sighed. “I’ll figure it out. We’ll figure it out. But not now. Now I just want another breadstick.”

 

 

 

 

I wandered by the shop on my way home. It still wasn’t on fire. I wandered trendy shopping streets, looking at clothing I didn’t particularly need. I found myself in front of a travel agency, staring at photos of palm trees and pink sand, and thought, “We can take off any time and anywhere we want. You can’t do that with kids.” True, we had some pretty serious economic advantages, which brought nannies and house sitters whenever we liked, and true, his mother would probably pay us to leave any theoretical children with her for however long we liked. But it meant another layer of planning for every single thing we would do for the rest of our lives. Jisoo, in a moment of poetic honesty, once told me that having kids had been like storing her heart outside her body. I understood: Jonghyun had mine, and I had his. But kids? Kids going off to school and falling down and getting their own hearts broken and moving out one day…could I take that? Could I upend my life, and still be good to Jjong? To my life and my business? To myself?

 

I was still musing, hours later, sitting in the rooftop hot tub with one jet aimed at my recalcitrant shoulder. There was a Kindle in a waterproof case beside me, but the letters were swimming as much as my toes were, so I had abandoned it in favour of staring at the clouds and wishing they’d stop looking like baby blankets.

 

It was hard to slam the door that led up to the roof, but somehow, Clara managed it.

 

She stopped dead when she saw me in the tub, and looked slightly sheepish. “Christ, I’m sorry,” she said in English.

 

I waved a hand out of the water. She was carrying a towel, and wearing a screaming red bikini. “Nah, don’t worry about it. Come on in! I set it kind of hot, though.”

 

“Fuck, yes,” she said decisively, and took the advice. 

 

She’d been back over a week, now, but we hadn’t had any real opportunity to talk. Not knowing the specifics of why she’d left in the first place— other than a fight had been brewing for weeks before it finally erupted in a nuclear blast that had shaken her lovers to the ground— I wasn’t even sure where to begin. Or if I should.

 

But manners were manners, and we did all have to live together. So after a period of gurgley calm, both of us relaxing into the set-on-9 jets, I casually asked her how she’d been.

 

She shrugged. “Stupid,” she said. 

 

“Pardon?”

 

“Stupid. I’ve been stupid. You?”

 

“Uh…okay, well, maybe confused, now?”

 

She smirked self-deprecatingly. “Yeah. Join the fucking club.”

 

“That bad, hm?”

 

She traced a line of bubbles in the water. “I don’t know. Everything got so fucked up and I thought I was just better being somewhere else for a while.”

 

“Mm,” I said as neutrally as I could. “We…sort of thought…you know.”

 

“I wasn’t coming back?”

 

“Yeah.” Kibum, in particular, had screamed just that in rage at one point, launching a glass so hard it exploded in fireworks against the wall, leaving a dent behind. Silver had cleaned everything up wordlessly, and had the wall patched the next day.

 

She was quiet again. Her long, bone-straight, black hair bubbled around her shoulders, and she watched it a long time with the almost gold brown eyes that had won her many a modeling contract, but all too often just looked angry. Or, like now, sad. I waited. Eventually, she merely shrugged again.

 

“Guess I’m just the bad penny.”

 

I sighed. “I’m sorry, honey.”

 

“Eh. I do this shit to myself, let’s be honest.”

 

“Is there anything I can do?”

 

This time, her eyes were rueful. “Don’t I wish?”

 

She was prickly, and she could be brittle, but she was so obviously soft inside that it hurt. It was so, so easy to see why Kibum and Silver got sucked in. It was hard not to.

 

“Listen, if there’s anything you need, you know I’m right upstairs, yeah?”

 

She nodded. “I know. And thanks for not, you know, trying to kill me. I think Eunji may want to take out a contract on me sometimes.”

 

“Bah. She’s just pissed about the bananas.”

 

“The what?”

 

I waved a hand. “Never mind. We don’t any of us want to kill you. Promise. We just…you know, I don’t want to get too heavy on you or anything, but we just want you guys to all be happy. Your boys love you. And G-d, Soohyun thinks you’re the most glamorous person in the world and she’s been to how many red carpet events? She has her own _stylist_ , for G-d’s sake. And she’s _three_.”

 

“I had one at two,” she mock-sniffed.

 

I burst out laughing. “I can’t get anyone to look at my hair here without utterly despairing.”

 

“Even in Itaewon?”

 

“I found _one_ guy there _once_ , and he was from Ireland, so what did he care? Completely normal to him. Then he bloody well went home!”

 

We both laughed, and it was good to see some light in her eyes. I put my head back again, determined not to screw up a lightened mood.

 

“How’s your shoulder?” she asked after a while, in a voice well-relaxed.

 

I rolled it a bit. “Eh. It’s better. Last G-d damned time I try to catch a carton of art books, though. Screw that. Next time, I’m just letting them fall on Minhyuk’s head.”

 

“Who’s that?”

 

“My assistant manager. He’s the sweetest guy, though, and no one deserves eight copies of ‘17th Century Ceramics in Asia’ to the skull.”

 

“You took it them to the shoulder, though.”

 

“Well, I’m the boss. The box stops here.” I rolled the affected joint again.

 

“I’ll give you the name of my guy in Gangnam. I pulled a muscle in my leg on a runway last Fashion Week, and he fixed me right up.”

 

“Yeah, yeah. I know. I should be a little more proactive, here.”

 

“You should. You should take care of yourself. You’re good at taking care of other people, so….” Her voice trailed off. I glanced over at her, but she wasn’t looking back at me.

 

“Thanks,” I said quietly.

 

Another shrug. “Yeah,” she said, and put her head back to look at the clouds.

 

 

 

 

Jjong was on the phone in his office when I came back into the flat, relaxed and prune-y. Typically spring, the afternoon had turned cool, and I huddled into my towel for warmth as I yelled my hello on the way to the shower. The hot tub had a very fancy pH balance to keep it pristine— and a building-wide agreement that sex in the hot tub was fine _only_ if you drained and refilled it, afterwards— but the water tended to make me feel a bit sticky.

 

I’d finished shaving my legs, and was rinsing off the last conditioner from my hair when the door flew open with a bang. I shrieked, but it was only Jjong standing there, his face lit up like Piccadilly Circus. My jaw dropped, and I gasped.

 

“You got them?”

 

_“We got them!”_

 

This time, I flat-out screamed, jumping up and down in excitement, my voice climbing to Mina-levels when he dashed forward into the shower, fully-dressed, and picked me up, spinning me around with a loud kiss. And then another kiss. And then a couple more. And then my back was against the wall, and—

 

“No, no, come on, baby! You have to tell me what happened!”

 

He shook his now-streaming hair back from his face and laughed in infectious joy. “Right! Right!”

 

I turned the water off and grabbed us both towels, and we sat right down on the heated floor, cross-legged and holding hands like lower-schoolers telling secrets.

 

“I just got off the phone with Hyunwoo— their leader? They all had a meeting Friday with the other agency, and they spent all of yesterday talking. They like the other guys’ contract, but they think they’ll have more room to grow with us. They like the fact that we’re artist-run, and we’re willing to let them have more control over their foreign schedules. That we _want them_ to have foreign schedules! So they want us!”

 

I threw my arms around him, ecstatic. “They want _you_ , baby. They want you and everything you can do for them. You did this! And you’re gonna do so much for them! I am _so_ proud of you!”

 

“Hey, King did a lot of the dirty work,” he laughed. 

 

“He did, because he’s brilliant. And you’re brilliant. And everything is brilliant! I am _so_ happy for you, baby! _Congratulations_!”

 

He kissed me again, jubilant.

 

“Get your best dress on, beautiful lady,” he said. “I am taking you to dinner. And then I am bringing you home. And we are going to _glue_ all the windows shut!”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When I’d met Jjong, I’d only just landed the gig at the bookstore. I’d been working through a grind of jobs I despised just to keep paying the rent on a tiny little studio after the whole damned reason I’d moved, a great position in a new publishing house, went up in a puff of acrid, lying, corrupt smoke. 
> 
> Not that I’m bitter.

Let me tell you: Loverboy doesn’t waste any time when he’s hot on a project, either. There were a few days of legal wrangling making sure everyone was happy and protected, but then he went straight into the studio with the Ballpit Ferrets, deciding which of their existing catalogue they’d re-record, where they might want to change some things, and what they wanted to create completely new. They had a rare position in the industry: they already had plenty of experience, and even a solid (if small) fan base, but they’d never had any kind of official “debut.” It made things interesting. 

 

It also made me a little patiently lonely, if one can be said to be such. I was so proud of him, and I really, truly reveled in his success because compersion was always a big part of our relationship, but I had to accept that I was at the beginning of not just one, but four rounds of the downside to it: Jonghyun would lock himself in the studio with his protégées, then lock himself in the studio with his members, then would come his comeback, and then the new group’s debut. And I knew he had ideas for a solo album some time around the end of the year, but I hoped he’d push that back. No bets taken there, though.

 

The store would keep me busy, of course. Eunhee and Minhyuk always joked that when the boys were promoting, so was I: special sales, theme events, all sorts of things to keep me busy. Eunhee even told me once she’d seen a fan page tip that if a sign appeared in the shopfront window announcing any of the above, everyone should brace for a comeback. I couldn’t deny the veracity thereof. But hey, this was the life I’d walked into, eyes open. Well. Mostly open.

 

When I’d met Jjong, I’d only just landed the gig at the bookstore. I’d been working through a grind of jobs I despised just to keep paying the rent on a tiny little studio after the whole damned reason I’d moved, a great position in a new publishing house, went up in a puff of acrid, lying, corrupt smoke. 

 

Not that I’m bitter. 

 

My good friends— cos thank G-d I had good friends by then— steered me towards the shop, which back then had been run by by the most wonderful old widower. He’d wanted to get more international customers, so he was open to the idea of hiring a foreigner with less-than-perfect spoken Korean. I had no trouble reading the language, and I had retail _and_ publishing experience, so there I landed. Thank G-d.

 

That job gave me, finally, a sense of permanence. Security. Solid ground. It gave me a lot of my confidence and calm back, too, since I wasn’t constantly calling my family back home and crying that I was a failure. I mean, they never agreed with my assessment, but they did often, gently, suggest I come back. And if moving all my worldly belongings to Korea in the first place hadn’t sucked so damned much, I might have done it. 

 

But I stayed. Momentum, inertia, whatever. I stayed and kept building my life, and found I’d gotten myself a new surrogate grandparent in Mr. Kim. His wife had been dead for eighteen years, by then, and their only son had moved to Iceland, of all places, to be a doctor, and, while he loved his father quite faithfully, he had no interest in the business. You see where this is going.

 

I worked really hard on that place. Mr. Kim wanted an international section, so by G-d, he was going to get it. I reorganised the place, creating a decent-sized section for new shelves, condensing some old, getting rid of stock that no one had ever even so much as asked about in a decade. I started ordering off the bestsellers lists from France and China and Thailand and Spain and the UAE and the US, amongst others. Got some foreign authors in for talks. Things were looking up.

 

You already know he died, of course. That’s how it goes. He was 89. It was gut-wrenching and horrible. As horrible as if he’d been my own grandfather. He didn’t suffer, and it was relatively quick, but it fucking sucked. Then I found out he’d left the shop to me, and I had to jump through legal hoops I’d never even imagined and often couldn't comprehend to square everything away as a foreigner owning a Korean business. It was one of those low-key nightmares where you’re trapped in a demonic DMV, and the sign on the wall says “Now Serving 12” and you look down and your ticket says “1,342.” I was back to crying and feeling as hopeless as when I’d lost that first job, and it sucked. Did I mention it sucked? Because it sucked.

 

And then somewhere in there, a guy walks in. Not too much taller than me, baseball cap pulled down really low, mask on, huge sunglasses. Really confident walk. I knew, of course, he was either an idol or an actor: such things happened with pleasing regularity in Seoul. I even knew a few on a first-name basis— especially the American ones who would do almost anything for the latest graphic novel from home. It’s a good way to score CDs, by the way. I recommend it. Anyway, this guy walks in on a particularly bad day, and I’m just gritting my teeth and trying to get through to 7pm and I swear he was one of those customers who was all “I don’t remember the title but the cover is blue.”

 

I didn’t deck him.

 

At least he was apologetic about it. I mean, he knew he was being the kind of customer retail people talk about in the back room while they drown their sorrows in bad coffee and gossip. But incredibly, it was actually relevant that the cover was blue— or rather, in this case, red, because the book was about the history of red dyes and how they shaped the economy of the Renaissance world. It took a week to get it in, and I ordered a few copies, including one for myself, because it sounded fascinating. (Spoilers: it totally was.)

 

A few weeks later, he came back. This time, he took the sunglasses off, and though I was still annoyed on principle about the last order, I had to note he had really pretty eyes, and an infectious eye-smile. Which saved his ass when he presented me with half of a title and the wrong author for another book. Which I still found. And thus: the game was afoot.

 

Three weeks later, he was back, and I braced myself on instinct. This time, he needed “a book about songwriters on Tin Pan Alley in early 20th century America.” I got him three.

 

Critical essays on the history of manga in Japan? Psht. No problem. He brought me coffee for that one, and when I laughed that I preferred tea, walked right out, and came back with Earl Grey.

 

“Some fiction set in Vietnam under the French.” Well, that one was easy; I gave him a list. He ordered two.

 

And then there was the day he came in with a neatly-printed note. It was, he said, the name of a Nepalese philosopher from the 18th century, who had apparently written a book, though he wasn’t sure it it had ever been published outside of Nepal. I stared at him in disbelief, and curled my fingers into the edge of the counter. “Sure!” I meant to say in Korean. “You have to be fucking kidding me” I actually said in English.

 

This time, the glasses were off already, and he reached up and took off the mask. I’d figured out who he was some weeks before (the fringe of lavender hair under the cap was a big hint), so there wasn’t any zoom-in-on-my-shocked-face moment. He merely wanted to unleash That Smile on me in full force.

 

“No, I really do want it,” he replied, also in English. 

 

I sighed. And in another moment of “Did that just come out of my mouth?” I said, “You’re lucky I like you.”

 

“I’m glad you said that,” he said, brightly.

 

“Why’s that?”

 

“Turn the card over.”

 

And there on the back, also in that very neat handwriting: “Will you have dinner with me?”

 

It was really, really fucking hard at first. No, really. I didn’t like having my picture taken. I didn’t like the idea of having to slip out the back of anywhere. I didn’t like thinking I couldn’t, you know, scratch my nose or burp in public when I was with him unless I was okay with it ending up on Twitter. And Instagram. And Tumblr. In sixteen countries.

 

More seriously, I was still mourning my pseudo-grandfather, seeing him out of the corner of my eye down every aisle, waiting for him to answer me about emails, and constantly, constantly wondering if he would think I was doing okay with his baby. Could I change this, could I stop doing that, would he mind? Would he be happy? I was battling through some pretty nasty depression, and there were more than a few times I came to the decision, in the middle of the night, to put dating on hold for a while. Only to wake up in the morning and text back that sure, I’d love to have dinner, and this time, I’d pick the spot.

 

I even got as far as telling him— more than once— that I wasn’t sure I was ready to be out in the world with another human. That maybe this wasn’t the right time. That maybe he’d do better with someone who wasn’t going through quite so much. But he got it. He understood. He was patient. And supportive. And helpful. And kind.

 

And I, I soon discovered, was hooked.

 

Once I stopped creating obstacles for myself, stopped telling myself what I _should_ do instead of listening to what I _wanted_ to do, It just became easy. We were really easy together. He was smart as hell, funny, sensitive, and the first time he kissed me my hair stood on end, which is no mean feat considering my hair. The first time we slept together and discovered we were both kind of kinky and both switches, I think angels sang. I definitely saw heavenly bodies.

 

So that was what kept me going through the years of intense togetherness and intense separation. That, plus the boys building their own apartment building from the ground up, with separate spaces for each of them, but common spaces, too. A gym in the basement, the gorgeous rooftop terrace, a party room on the other side of the roof, studios and practise rooms and an office. And each apartment was different with an eye to just how much time everyone would be spending together as a family: Jinki had the home theater and a kids’ playroom, Jjong had a library, Kibum’s space was perfect for almost any kind of party. Everyone had everyone else’s key codes, and everyone’s stuff was lost in everyone else’s couch cushions. I never had to be completely alone unless I wanted to be.

 

Thank G-d, of course, in the five years since the place had been finished and everyone moved in and Kibum finished decorating everything he could in every space he was allowed (and a few he wasn’t), we’d also figured out each other’s limits. Jisoo loved people coming in at all hours of the day to chat or play with the kids or just hang out. Minho and Eunji preferred their evenings quiet if they were home, but would always come visit if it were suggested. Taemin was always up for a late-night dance practise. Kibum, Clara, and Silver were rarely all at home at the same time because of work, and when they were, there was either sex or arguing going on, so call first.

 

So I sat in my living room late Thursday night, telling myself to be grateful for the incredible support system, and trying not to wallow. I rarely did, honest, but sometimes….

 

Well. Another advantage to living with all these artists was there was always something going on in the city to which someone had an in, if they weren’t the ones putting it on in the first place. I was tapping a flyer postcard on my knee, as a matter of fact, that promoted Silver’s latest gallery show. He wasn’t going to be there himself, that night, but I really wanted to see it. So, hey, what the hell.

 

To my enormous surprise, Silver actually _was_ there when I arrived. In fact, he was working: covering the entire back wall of the gallery in spray paint and broken pieces of things that glittered. The evening crowd of hip young things sipped beer and soju and stuff I didn’t recognise, wandering along the stark white walls and nodding warmly at the huge canvases hung there, then pooling behind him to watch him work. Silver painted with an almost violent joy: abstract pieces that looked at first like subway graffiti, but glittered and swirled with depth the closer you got, and he expressed his art with his entire body. There was a bone-crushing sound system in the place, and he was flying across the wall, back and forth, in time to a heavy, driving beat. He wore a snapback backwards with his hair shoved up inside, and a respirator, torn jeans, and an old, faded black tank top that stuck sometimes to his damp-with-sweat skin. He was completely focused on the work. I’m not sure he knew there was anyone else in the building.

 

I walked through the exhibit for a while, absorbing the paintings that dwarfed me with their energy as much as their size. Jonghyun had bought one of Silver’s paintings a few years ago, but I actually found it too electric for the bedroom, and we’d moved it into the living room, switching out some furniture to give it a good spot. People would sit and stare at it, sometimes, as if they were watching television. I couldn’t blame them. 

 

Eventually, I took a seat a little distance back from where he painted, watching him through the ebb and flow of evening visitors. I almost never got a chance to watch him work. In the four years he’d been with Kibum, I’d probably only seen it two or three times. It was mesmerising. He picked up cans and flew across the walls with them, leaving clouds of colour that settled into abstract dreamscapes. He’d change them out for different colours, moving from section to section and back again. And just when I thought he’d completed a section, he’d pick up another can, spray something colourless against his work, and then throw a handful of stones or leaves or beads, then set in glass and shards of mirrors and ceramics. I could almost see something recognizable there in the work, but then it would morph into something else, and I would just sit and wait until something entirely different surfaced again.

 

It took me a few minutes to figure out something was a little off as he worked. I thought at first one of his cans had sprung a leak, which wasn’t really logical, but there it was. I finally realised, as he reached up to throw an arc of bronze paint across the top of the wall, that there was blood running down his arm.

 

He realised it just about the same time as I, and stepped back, pulling off the respirator and looking down at his hand to inspect the damage. He stared at it for a moment, and then closed it, rubbing his fingers together like he was crushing leaves in his palm. And then, very deliberately, he turned, considered the wall for a moment, and slapped his hand right in the middle of it. 

 

There were gasps and some laughs and sounds of surprise from the people watching, and “Ohhh”s of interest and thoughtfulness as he stepped back, dragging his hand carefully down the wall, leaving a spattered, bloody handprint and a swirling red trail. I could see him nodding as he stared at his work, thinking.

 

I walked through the watchers, pulling ice out of my drink and wrapping it in my napkin. 

 

“Hi, hon,” I said, stepping up and offering it to him.

 

“Hey!’ He smiled his quiet smile at me, tossing the respirator towards his paint, and taking the napkin. He gave me a quick hug. “I didn’t know you were here.”

 

“I was just sitting and watching you work. I didn’t want to disturb you— you were pretty into it.” I gestured at his hand. “You need stitches?”

 

“Nah. I think I cut myself on one of the pieces of mirror. It’s shallow— it’ll stop in a few.”

 

I looked at the bloody handprint. “You sure about that? Kibum’s gonna kill you if you bleed to death.” 

 

His smile was wry. “And in an art gallery. He’d probably kind of like it.”

 

I had to laugh. “He’d leave you here, and put up a title card next to your body: ‘The Murder of Art.’”

 

This time, I almost got an actual laugh out of him.

 

I nodded towards the wall. “It’s beautiful, by the way. Reminds me of flying.”

 

His eyes, as he turned to look back at his work, were appraising, as if he were reading it. Which he probably was. “Thanks. I think…yeah. I’m done for the night.”

 

“You want a ride home?”

 

“That’d be great. Lemme clean up, say goodbye.”

 

I wandered the gallery a little more, wondering if that particular flash of red in one work was meant to be Clara’s car, or the dark gold was Kibum’s hair. I doubted it. Silver was too private even for that. He wouldn’t even paint in the apartment they shared. He rented a studio space where he would lock himself away for days, until the work burned itself out of him onto the canvas. He’d come home completely doused inside, but also somehow sated. Kibum would quietly dote on him and give him space, until he came back to us, and his eyes refocussed on the people around him. 

 

One thing I had learned early on was that his silence was never meant to be taken personally. Likewise the fact that he didn’t smile much, and often took several seconds before he answered a question. He was just an enormously subtle, sensitive person, for all he looked like he just really wanted to get back to the gym and do more reps while chugging protein shakes. But even the working out had a purpose: it cleared his mind, he said, and put him into a meditative state that let the images come. He was solid, and cautious, and calm: all things Kibum desperately needed in his life. And Kibum knew exactly where to reach into Silver to put light and quickness, which was exactly what Silver needed. It had taken me months to understand it; now I all but gave prayers of thanksgiving that they’d found each other. Interspersed with prayers that Clara wouldn’t tear them apart.

 

We were stuck at a traffic light when I finally broke the companionable silence, not looking at him. 

 

“How is everything  at home?”

 

He knew, of course, what I was asking. As I expected, he was silent for so long I instinctively worried he hadn’t heard me, and had to stop myself from asking again. Patience. Patience.

 

“We’re waiting for the ice to melt to see how deep the water is,” he finally replied, wryly.

 

I blew out a long breath. “That tense?”

 

Out of the corner of my eye, I could see him shrug. “She’s tense. That makes him tense. When we stop creeping around each other and relax…I guess that’s when we see what happens.”

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

“No. This is just how it is. It’s who we are.”

 

I wanted to rush in with advice and platitudes, but I restrained myself. “You know the library's always open to you, right?”

 

His lips twitched. “Even the special shelf?”

 

I laughed. “Well. I might consider that. If you’re very good.”

 

Another small, wry smile as he smoothed the Superman band-aid over his palm. “We’re trying.”

 

 

 

 

 

The apartment was still empty when I got home, as I’d suspected it would be. But I looked around, wandering from space to space, touching the armoire he’d bought in Bali, the wall hanging I’d bought in Maine. His piano. My vase. Our couch. Our desk. Our bedroom.

 

Our library. I stood in the doorway and clicked on the lights. The “special shelf” was a little floating shelf over the overstuffed chaise. While all the other, built-in bookshelves were fairly full, this one held only nine books: a book on the history of red dye in the Renaissance, an obscure illustrated fantasy novel, three books on Tin Pan Alley songwriters, critical essays on the history of manga, two novels about French Vietnam, and, last, a book written by Te-ongsi Sirijunga Xin Thebe, born in 1704 in what is now Nepal. And tucked in its pages, a neatly-printed note as a bookmark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There really is a book about the effects of red dye, cochineal, on the economy and politics of Renaissance Europe. It's called "A Perfect Red: Empire, Espionage, and the Quest for the Colour of Desire." It's by Amy Butler Greenfield, and if you think it *sounds* interesting, wait til you read it. It's so, so good.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hyunwoo was there in an instant, behind Jaxi, and then, a second later, so was Jonghyun. 
> 
> “What the hell is going on, here?”
> 
> Jaxi gave up trying to twist his arm from Silver’s immutable grip, and turned his face away, mouth set, breathing hard. 
> 
> “I have no fucking clue!” Clara snapped. “Your fucking puppy here wants to start something, I’ll fucking start something.”

The club was so incredibly loud. I mean, Jesus. I had in unobtrusive earplugs, but I wished to G-d I could have checked my eardrums at the door for safekeeping. Still, it would have been hard for anyone to resist the almost manic energy coming off the packed-in crowd, and I was in a pretty good mood myself, anyway. 

 

I’d loved being a club rat back in the States, when I was in college, but my clubs tended to cater to a darker, more artsy crowd. This club was full of bright young things in bright young clothes, and it both made me feel old and made me laugh. I loved the feel of slipping through a crowd like this, feeding off their excitement, being in the middle of it all but not a part of it. Or maybe I was just pretentious. Totally possible.

 

Jjong, King, and another one of the guys from their agency, Jinho, had taken the Ballpit Ferrets out to dinner, and then brought them here, where I met up with them. The boys were mostly staying together, still riding the high of good fortune as a close-knit clan. They were good kids, but tonight they were more than happy to drink themselves stupid on Jjong’s tab, and he was more than happy to let them. They’d done their first real recording today— a completely original song they’d written in a  two-day frenzy after accepting their new agency. _Come ou_ t, Jonghyun had texted. _Come dance with me, my beautiful woman._

 

How could I resist? Besides, someone was going to have to cart his drunk ass home at 3am.

 

Eventually, I made my way back to the banquette against the wall, raised up several steps and a few yards back from the dance floor, where our group had taken up residence. Several of the BPFs had girlfriends, and they’d come out to play, as well. King’s wife, and Jinho’s girlfriend. Guys I assumed were friends of the boys. I had seen Clara somewhere, at some point, and I’d heard Key had brought her, but he’d had a prior engagement and had to go. It had, on the whole, turned into an impromptu, rather raucous party. But everyone seemed to be far more intent on having fun than causing trouble. I made my way around the group to Jjong, who was talking to Jinho, and put my hand on his arm. He turned to look at me, and the joy in his eyes made me blush. I grinned back: my beautiful boy. He’d done well. We generally didn’t like kissing in public— too many eyes, too many cell phone cameras— but we were pretty good at making each other feel good, anyway. Seriously: how bad are you going to feel when you know the most beautiful, sexy, talented guy in the whole universe is going to be making you tea in the morning? I squeezed his arm, and slid into a nearby seat, watching the people, enjoying the energy.

 

One of the new shining stars was sitting next to me, watching the dance floor. Jaxi. I was proud of myself. I hadn’t spent a lot of time wth them yet, and I was generally terrible with names, but I was determined to know all their names and at least something about them as soon as possible. Jaxi was just 20, born and raised in Seoul, lived with his mom. Rapped and sang. He generally wrote the political songs the boys did, and he had a quick, idealistic wit. A very soft-hearted revolutionary. 

 

He bowed and greeted me with a shy smile. 

 

“Are you enjoying yourself?” I asked, pitching my voice to be heard over the booming din of the music and crowd.

 

He paused a moment, then shook his head in almost disbelief. “Yeah. I am. It’s just so weird, you know? Everything that’s happened?”

 

“I know,” I laughed. “I’m really excited for you guys. Jonghyun says the best things about you. I have to come see you all perform!”

 

Another shy smile. “That would be nice. I think you’d like us. I mean, well, I’m biased, but it seems people have fun when they come to see us.”

 

I shrugged. “Listen, Jonghyun knows talent when he sees it. I knew before I even heard you guys you had to be top-notch. You’re gonna do great.”

 

He turned to look back over the crowd, his ears so pink I could see them glow in the coloured, flashing lights. I suppressed a giggle. They were all adorable. Just adorable.

 

But as I watched him, amused, I saw a quick flash across his face: discomfort, confusion, even anger. I tried to see where he had been looking, but in the seething crowd, there was nothing I could pinpoint. He glanced back at me, then smoothed his expression over politely. 

 

“You okay?” I asked. 

 

“Yeah, yeah,” he said quickly. “Thank you!”

 

I nodded, reluctant to pry. I didn’t know him well enough, yet. 

 

I tried to get to the others at least once or twice through the course of the evening. They were good guys, and I was, of course, predisposed to like them. I wanted to know their dynamics, too— Jjong and King were always invested in not just keeping their artists successful, but happy, as well. These boys seemed to already have a close bond, and they were all of them young— their leader was the eldest at 25— ambitious, energetic, and definitely with something to prove. They obviously all knew how to work out their problems amongst themselves, but a little outside insight might not be the worst idea as they grew into their new situation. Besides, it was really impossible not to like them. 

 

JayJay, the maknae, was sitting on my other side. He was a year younger than Jaxi, and often his partner in crime. He loved to cook, and all his hyungs swore no one could make ramyun go further better than he could. Though three of the boys lived with their families, five, including JayJay, shared an apartment, and they constantly begged and bullied him into the kitchen. He complained, he told me, but he really liked it. His hyungs valued him, and that made him feel good. Not to mention he just really liked food. He was the shortest, but I had a feeling he wasn’t going to stay that way. And from the habitually wicked look in his long, upturned eyes, and his penchant for playing the long game with practical jokes, his members were going to have to watch their backs. 

 

He was attempting to educate me on the difference between rosemary and thyme— I told you: I do not cook— when there was a voice in my ear, so close I nearly took a swing before I processed that it was Jonghyun, and he was asking me to dance. He jumped back, laughing, and I smacked him, anyway. A quick nod from both of us to Jaxi and JayJay, and off we went. 

 

It had taken me months to get comfortable dancing with my own boyfriend; it felt like making dinner for a master chef. But over time, he’d made it obvious he appreciated my body for other things it could do, and as I got more confident with him, I stopped giving a damn. I mean, seriously: I’m smart, I’m cute, and I’ve got great hair. Why worry, right?

 

He had a drink or two in him. Just enough to relax him and make him feel good. if he had a few more, he’d get giggly and touchy-feely, which always put me in a bit of a quandary: privacy on one hand, but kisses on the other. Hard choice, I have to say. But right here was perfect. It was a good night. I danced with Jjong, then with King, who always reminded me of my brother except without the history of hair-pulling and tattle-tale-ing, and even with Clara, who seemed to be in a very good mood. I caught sight of Jaxi’s face once: I thought he was scowling at either me or Clara or someone near us, but his gaze slid away too quickly for me to be sure. Hm.

 

Somewhere around two, I was beginning to think about leaving. I’d had a bit of a chat— or at least a hello— from all of the shiny new boys. Their leader, Hyunwoo, was tall and bright-eyed, and I swear to G-d, Korean or not, I could see him leading the charge up the barricades in Paris. Though hopefully without the death part. We were bonding over a mutual love for chinchillas (his sister had two), when I saw Clara walk past, followed closely by Silver. The hell? I hadn’t even known he’d been here. Had he just gotten here? My observational skills were obviously way off.

 

“Hyunwoo, will you excuse me a sec?”

 

I turned back to him with a smile, but the look in his eyes wasn’t exactly warm. And it seemed like he, too, was looking at Clara. Okay. I had definitely missed something. But just as Jaxi had, he smoothed a polite expression onto his face, and said, all manners, “Of course, noona.”

 

It was on the tip of my tongue to ask what, exactly, was going on, when I looked over my shoulder again to see Jaxi, now glaring openly at an oblivious Clara and Silver. I started to move forward just as the younger man set his jaw, put down his drink, and rose angrily, directly into Silver’s path.

 

Oh, fuck.

 

Silver may be built like Mjolnir, and be about as immovable, but he’s absolutely a pacifist. Very little fazes him, or threatens him, or blows his calm. Especially in his various lines of work. An angry kid getting in his face in a club was a perfectly normal Saturday night— and I belatedly realised the reason I hadn’t seen him before was, no doubt, because he’d spent most of the evening in the DJ booth doing his thing. So how had he pissed off Jaxi and Hyunwoo?

 

I made it to his side just as Jaxi started in. The younger man had obviously had a few more drinks than he should have, and I had a vague feeling it was because of this inexplicable anger.

 

“Don’t you care what you’re doing? Where’s your honour, man?”

 

Silver’s face was impassive, but Clara turned around with a snap, and being Clara, went off. 

 

“I beg your fucking pardon?”

 

Jaxi took a half step back, and all I could see in his face was anger, and even hurt. “You!” he bit out. “You seemed so nice. _Different_!”

 

He waved his hand dismissively, and though I could see from my angle he was nowhere near Clara, Silver was taking no chances. Almost too fast for me to see, he had Jaxi’s wrist in his grip, and held on as if he’d been carved from stone.

 

Hyunwoo was there in an instant, behind Jaxi, and then, a second later, so was Jonghyun. 

 

“What the hell is going on, here?”

 

Jaxi gave up trying to twist his arm from Silver’s immutable grip, and turned his face away, mouth set, breathing hard. 

 

“I have no fucking clue!” Clara snapped. “Your fucking puppy here wants to start something, I’ll fucking start something.”

 

I was standing beside Silver at this point, and I shot her a look. “Not helping, Clara.”

 

“So fucking _what_?” 

 

“Clara!” Jonghyun snapped back, warningly. He looked back to his young protege. “You want to explain the problem, here?”

 

But Jaxi refused to answer, still, and it was Hyunwoo who finally spoke over the din of the club. “Hyung…” he started, then paused, obviously unsure what to say.

 

By now, most of our party was around us, and I became increasingly nervous about who else was watching this drama unfold. Clearly, so was Jonghyun.

 

“Someone say something or we’re all out of here right fucking now.”

 

Hyunwoo took a deep breath, looked at Clara, and spat out one word. “Kibum.”

 

There was a long pause, where everyone looked at everyone else in rampant confusion.

 

And then, somehow, Silver started laughing. 

 

He let go of Jaxi’s wrist, and stepped back, holding up his hands and chuckling. He even clapped Jaxi on the arm, and the look on the kid’s face was priceless. Then it hit me, too, and I just groaned. 

 

Jjong closed his eyes for a second, and I went over and put my arm around his waist. “Have fun with this,” I said in his ear.

 

“Where the fuck do I even start?” he sighed. 

 

“With me, maybe?” Clara said, looking around at us all. 

 

I cleared my throat. “You’ve spent time with the boys in the studio this week, right? You and Kibum had lunch with them the other day?” She nodded. “Well…Jaxi and Hyunwoo, here, think you’re, er, cheating on Kibum.”

 

Her eyes got very wide, and she laughed, clapping her hands over her mouth. “Oh, for the love of G-d.”

 

And now it was Jaxi and Hyunwoo’s turn to look confused as hell. 

 

Jonghyun casually looked around, and made sure than anyone who’d been watching the whole exchange had gone back about their own business. By now, the rest of the group had gathered quite close, drawn by curiosity and a need to close ranks around their members. Jjong stepped up and put his arm around Jaxi’s shoulders. “Okay. First thing? We’re going to have a nice long talk— all of you— about how you act when you’re in public. When you’re out at a club, a restaurant, I don’t care. You don’t cause a scene. Ever. You have issues, you handle them in private. Right?”

 

All the boys nodded, wide-eyed. 

 

“We’ll get back to that. For now, get your things, all right? We’ve got another long day tomorrow, so it’s time to call it a night.”

 

To their credit, the eight of them were ready to go almost instantly. They bid their friends and significant others goodbye, and in short order, were back on the small bus King had called for them. For the moment, Silver, Clara, King, and I had joined them. I tried not to laugh, looking at their various expressions of trepidation. This was going to be interesting.

 

Jjong leaned back against the first row of seats, arms crossed, posture relaxed.

 

“Silver? You want to field this?”

 

Silver looked around at all of them. “No one’s cheating on anyone,” he said, his voice its usual calm tones. “Kibum and Clara and I are all together. We’re a triad.”

 

His words fell into a rather deep well of confusion. The bulb especially did not switch on behind Jaxi’s eyes. “A what?”

 

“A triad. A couple is two people, a triad is three.”

 

Hyunwoo cocked his head. “So you’re dating both of them?” he said to Clara. 

 

She shook her head. “No, all of us are together. All three of us.”

 

Another young man, Seungjun, spoke up. “So you and Kibum-hyung are bi?”

 

Silver nodded. 

 

“I assume that’s not a problem for anyone?” Jjong said, casually. There were general shrugs all around. These boys weren’t sheltered. “We do not talk about this to other people, all right? It’s private business. Is that understood?”

 

All of the boys were nodding, now. But it was clear something was percolating behind eight sets of eyes. A terrifying, slow smile spread across JayJay’s face as he looked around the bus. I saw a light rising behind Jaxi’s eyes, and he turned to Clara. 

 

“You’re dating more than one person? And you all know about it, and everyone’s good with it? And it works?”

 

She grinned. “You got it.”

 

“You can date as many people as you want?”

 

Silver spoke up. “Polyamory. You can have however many relationships you can honestly and openly sustain. It’s not easy, but it’s worth it.”

 

“You can do that?” Jaxi breathed, wonder in his face.

 

I smiled seraphically at Jonghyun, who was beginning to understand the train wreck that was coming at him. 

 

“Good luck, darling,” I whispered.

 

“Oh my G-d,” he whispered back. “What have I done?’”


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The water crashed around us, almost louder than his panting, the little cries falling from my mouth. His fingers dug into my hips, urging me faster, and my hands closed into fists on his chest. His teeth were bared, his jaw thrust forward— tighter, harder—! He rose up, lifting me and pushing me down against the opposite wall of the tub, burying his face against my throat as I locked my legs around him, holding him, holding him— so he couldn’t see the look in my eyes.

I was staring at an invoice from the distributor I didn’t like, trying to make it make sense. My dislike was rapidly moving towards hatred: the guy was incredibly old-fashioned, and seemed incapable of believing I actually owned the bookstore now. I’d had to correct him several times, and he still openly preferred to talk to Minhyuk rather than me. At some point, I was going to either out-stubborn the guy, or simply outlive him. But I was going to win. 

 

Such visions of gleeful, feminist justice filled my head that I wasn’t looking where I was going, and very nearly plowed right into the back of a person standing just inside the door to our apartment building. It was a young woman, and I instantly tensed. But when she turned and bowed her apologies to me, I relaxed a bit: she looked nervous, but she didn’t have that “I just sneaked in here” guilty look. In fact:

 

“You look lost,” I said to her. “Can I help you?”

 

She had the strap of her old, khaki canvas messenger bag in her hands, and she twisted it in long fingers with terrible nails. She was so young— couldn’t have been more than sixteen. She was comfortably dressed, but neither her jeans nor her pretty pink cotton top were new. A thin chain with a locket was her only jewelry. No makeup. Definitely not a sasaeng, then, stalking the boys.

 

She bit her lip, tried a tentative smile. “I…I’m looking for Mrs. Choi? I— I have an appointment!” she added earnestly.

 

Click! “Oh! Are you from Taemin’s class?”

 

The relief on her face was almost tangible. “Yes! Yes, he gave her my number and he told me she needed help with the children a little, and she called me and she was so nice, and I said I’d love to help, so here I am, but I seem to have lost the number now, and it’s not in my phone—“

 

“Ahh, it’s okay, it’s okay. I know she’s expecting you. I’ll take you up, okay? I have an elevator key.”

 

Her shoulders relaxed as she sighed, her smile widening. “Thank you so much. I was so afraid of being late! And I’m usually so organized!”

 

Her name was Hyoseong, I learned, and she was, indeed, sixteen. And once her distress about screwing up what was, essentially, her first job interview faded, she was sweet and smart, and quite personable. I didn’t want to jinx anything, but I couldn’t possibly see Jisoo doing anything but adoring her. Soohyun and Chanhyuk would be the true test, but if this were a good day, she’d sail through.

 

So of course, it wasn’t.

 

It was a good thing, I suppose, Hyoseong hadn’t tried to call or buzz Jisoo. Jisoo would never have been able to answer the phone or the intercom, nor would she have been able to hear anything if she had. Soundproofed though our apartments were, we sometimes left our front doors open if we were expecting company (since you couldn’t get to the housing floors without a key, and we were the only ones living here) and I could hear the kids before the elevator doors even opened. Jinki could fill a stadium with his voice, unamplified, and his children were taking right after him. 

 

Chanhyuk had lately entered the stage where he was discovering all the wonderful things his voice could do, chief amongst them: shattering glass. Soohyun had herself recently discovered singing, and made a game of singing along with her brother when he started his epic Wagnerian arias. Most of the time, Jisoo was able to shut them down with gentle distraction, but today, they were feeding off each other and going around in a vicious, earsplitting circle.

 

As we entered the apartment, Soohyun was running laps around the dining room table, refusing to go to her room as her mother demanded. Chanhyuk was in his high chair, apparently thinking that if he screamed loudly enough to his cheese, it would moo back at him. It wasn’t working so far, but by G-d, this kid was a trouper. He was going to make it happen.

 

Jisoo, placid as ever, stood in the middle of the chaos with what seemed to be the remains of a small bowl of yogurt in one hand, and a rag covered in what appeared to be most of the rest of that yogurt in the other. I wondered how far Chanhyuk had managed to fling it this time. She smiled at Hyoseong, and, I’m fairly certain, greeted her politely, but by that time my ears were bleeding and my eyes were melting, so I couldn’t be sure. 

 

Hyeosong sized up the situation within seven or eight seconds, bowed politely to Jisoo, walked over to the dinner-table racetrack, and sat right down on the floor in the middle of Soohyun’s path with her bag on her lap. Soohyun rounded the corner and came to a skidding stop at the sight of the complete stranger in her way. Her vaguely musical screaming came to a stop as if a blessed switch had been flipped. Chanhyuk was distracted, and his little jaw dropped. Jisoo took the opportunity to guide his fistful of cheese into his mouth, and he automatically started munching. And stopped shrieking. I felt lightheaded with relief. 

 

Hyoseong didn’t even look up at Soohyun. She busied herself with opening her bag, and riffling through it, obviously searching for something important. 

 

“I know I had it,” she said. “Hm.”

 

Soohyun cocked her head. “What did you have?”

 

Hyoseong didn’t even look up. “My map.”

 

“Map? What’s that?”

 

“Mmmm…it’s a drawing of a place that tells you where things are.”

 

“What are you looking for?”

 

Hyoseong looked up at the child with raised eyebrows. “My dragon, of course.”

 

Soohyun folded up on the spot to help look in Hyoseong’s bag, and I looked up at Jisoo, who was putting another piece of cheese in Chanhyuk’s left hand while cleaning the last of the yogurt off his right. She was smiling. So was I. So were the kids. Perfect. I foresaw a big bowl of Jisoo’s famous shrimp pasta in Taemin’s future.

 

It wasn’t until I had said my goodbyes and gotten back up to my own place that I realised part of my brain had been wondering how good Hyoseong was with newborns, and if Jisoo would share.

 

 

 

 

He was close, I could feel it.

 

The water crashed around us, almost louder than his panting, the little cries falling from my mouth. His fingers dug into my hips, urging me faster, and my hands closed into fists on his chest. His teeth were bared, his jaw thrust forward— tighter, harder—! He rose up, lifting me and pushing me down against the opposite wall of the tub, burying his face against my throat as I locked my legs around him, holding him, holding him— so he couldn’t see the look in my eyes.

 

“I’m close, I’m _close_!” he hissed, thrusting faster, losing the rhythm, and as I raked my nails down his spine, he threw his head back with a choked groan and came, hard, driving in once, twice, three times. I clenched my muscles around him and he shuddered, slowly collapsing, limb by limb, against me, aftershocks quivering through him. 

 

The water settled as he lay there, face pressed into the side of my neck, arms lax around my ribs. I slid my legs down his body, and he rolled off to lie beside me, pulling me close. His kisses were soft on my temple, on my cheek, and he played with a wet curl absently, drowsily. 

 

But then he blinked. Frowned. “Jagi?”

 

When I didn’t answer, he turned my face towards him gently. 

 

“You didn’t come.” It wasn’t a question.

 

I shrugged, sliding my gaze away, not really feeling like talking. 

 

He wasn’t having it. “What is it, jagiya?”

 

“I just….” I cleared my throat, finding it a little raw. “I just sort of…I guess I have a lot on my mind. It’s nothing.”

 

“It’s something. Talk to me?”

 

I cupped a hand in the water, watched as it ran through my fingers. “This is my brain,” I said wryly. “This is everything I’m trying to think about.”

 

“Is something wrong at work?”

 

I finally looked back into his eyes. The frenzy and fury raging through him just a few minutes ago had burned out entirely. He was so soft, so warm and loving and supportive. I pushed wet hair back from his face. Rested a finger on his lips. He kissed it gently.

 

“It’s us, Jjong.”

 

The sated, soft look in his eyes sharpened. “What’s wrong?”

 

I shook my head. “No. Not like that. We’re good. We’re really good. And that’s sort of the point. We’re really good.”

 

He reached over and turned on the tap to heat up the cooling water, waiting for me to go on. When it was warm enough again, he just looked at me expectantly.

 

“I love how we are together. You know that.”

 

“Mmhm. So do I.”

 

“So. I mean. Would we be be okay with giving this up?”

 

“Why would we have to give it up?” He knew exactly what I was talking about. 

 

“We wouldn’t be just us any more. We wouldn’t have just our lives. We’d have, always, someone else to worry about and to take care of and to put first. Everything would change.”

 

He nodded. “Yeah. Well. No. Lots of things would change. Lots of important things wouldn’t.”

 

“Like what?”

 

“We’d still live here. We’d still have our jobs. We’d still have the same friends and family. We’d still be us. I’d still be crazy in love with you. You’d still be crazy in love with me. If you didn’t kill me in the delivery room.” I snorted and splashed water on his chest. He flicked it right back at me.

 

“One thing that maybe…kind of…should change?” he went on, hesitantly.

 

“Go on.”

 

“Maybe we should talk about this more? And not _not_ talk about it? You not getting off when we have sex is…um. It’s a little disconcerting.”

 

I rolled my eyes. “Did I bruise your poor ego?”

 

This time, he splashed me. In the face. “Brat. Shut up.” He followed it with a kiss. “You know you’re pretty much a sure thing in that respect. And I feel all sad and guilty and terrible when I fail in my duty as a—“

 

“Shut up or I’m going to drown you.”

 

He grinned smugly.

 

“Okay, seriously,” he went on. “Yeah. It’s gonna be weird if we do this. But we’ve had six years. And like you said, we _are_ good. We have each other’s back and we know how we work, and…I think we know how to get around problems together.”

“Okay,” I responded, “then let’s look at this practically. I’m not Jisoo. I won’t give up my job for kids, and you flat-out can’t. I mean, if I sold the shop, life would go on. You drop out, and….”

 

“If I needed to, I would.”

 

“Oh, come on. You have millions of fans, you have your brothers, you have your company, and kids are expensive! We could lose my salary, but if we lose yours—“

 

“No, I mean it. First off, if I never worked another day in my life, we’d be fine. Seriously.  And second, if something horrible happens, if we have a baby and there’s something wrong, I wouldn’t leave you alone. I run my life. I can take a hiatus, I can quit, I have options.”

 

“You wouldn’t quit! Jjong!” I was vaguely horrified.

 

“I would. Of course I would.”

 

“Baby…if we’re being realistic, I’m not in my 20s any more. I _would be_ an older mother, and I _would be_ higher-risk. So you have to be sure you really mean it if you say that.”

 

“I absolutely do. I would never do that to you, and I would never do that to our child. I’d have to figure out how we’d manage financially if I completely stopped working for good, but we would make it work. And if we need more help, we find it, just like Jisoo did today.” He reached up and rubbed a finger along the crease between my eyebrows until I stopped frowning. “And let’s not court trouble, okay?”

 

“We would have to be prepared, baby. For anything.”

 

“That means being prepared for a happy, healthy kid, too. I’m not gonna ignore the risks, but I’m not going to pretend they’re the only option, either.”

 

I waved my foot back and forth in the water for a minute, watching the little waves roll up the sides of the tub. Back and forth, ripples crossing and building and canceling each other out. It was another metaphor, here. Every action was going to have so many more reactions with a kid in the picture.

 

We were silent for long enough that the water started to cool again, and again, he warmed it up, letting some out, too. I sighed in pleasure. “I would miss this,” I admitted. “I would miss it being just us.”

 

He nodded thoughtfully. “I know. But we’ve had that for six years. Maybe we can have something else wonderful for the rest of our lives.”

 

I watched the ripples, tipping my head against his chest.

 

“Maybe.”

 

 

 

 

Kibum was up on the roof again. But this time, he was sprawled sideways in one of the huge patio chairs, leg hooked over the arm, sketchbook on one thigh, pencils and markers and erasers scattered across the coffee table beside him, a half-finished beer nestled among them. He looked up at me, considering.

 

“I don’t know how you two manage it,” he said.

 

I took the chair opposite him, mindful of sitting too fast. “Manage what?”

 

“You fuck like we fight. But you never actually fight.”

 

I barked out a laugh. “The hell?”

 

He shook his head, ruefully. “The three of us just go at it when we fight, and it happens all the time. Well. Clara and I fight. Clara fights with Silver. I sometimes fight with Silver. Silver doesn’t really fight with anyone. It gets complicated.”

 

“Jesus, yeah.”

 

“But you and Jjong never fight. You just have lots of sex and talk about everything.”

 

“Wellll…yeah. I guess that’s just how we communicate. We’ve both been really angry, but we’ve never, you know, had a screaming match.”

 

He quirked an eyebrow, turning back to his sketch. “Must be nice.”

 

“I’m sorry, honey.”

 

He shook his head. “Anyway, what was tonight’s about?”

 

I felt my cheeks go a little hot. “The fucking or the not-fighting? And how the hell do you know?”

 

“You have a certain look in your eye. And you walk differently.” He snorted. “And don’t think I missed the way you sat down.”

 

I stiffened a little. “It was fairly mild tonight, thank you.”

 

“Just don’t break him. We need him.”

 

“Oh my G-d, Kibum.”

 

“So what was the talk about?”

 

“Oh my _G-d_ , Kibum!” I flopped back in the chair. “Just…just stuff. Us. Where we’re going. What we want.”

 

His eyes snapped up to my face, questioning.

 

I waved my hand. “No, no. Nothing like that. We’re good. Really. I mean, really good. Just…other stuff.”

 

“Ahhh,” he said softly, turning to a new sheet. “Sounds like fun.”

 

I put my head back and looked up at the stars. I wanted to say, “It could be worse,” but I thought that might be insensitive in light of Kibum’s current situation.

 

“What do any of us want out of life, Ki?” 

 

I heard him snort. “I thought I was the one who’d been drinking.”

 

“It takes more than half a beer to get you drunk,” I shot back. “I’ve seen you float your liver away and remain perfectly lucid.”

 

“That’s what comes of practise and hard work,” he said, tartly. 

 

“Enabler.”

 

“Usually. You’re such a lightweight rum cake knocks you over.”

 

“There must be balance in the universe, Ki. That’s my purpose in this den of iniquity.”

 

“And here I thought it was to be the voice of reason in chaos.”

 

“Well, that, too.” I watched a moth flutter around the golden lights for a bit. “So anyway. What are you working on up here?”

 

“Accessories for next year. Winter.”

 

“Tell me, fashion maven, what’s everyone going to be wearing next winter?”

 

“Muffs. Capelets. Stoles. Vintage/antique stuff. Or they will if I have anything to say about it.” Kibum had spent the last three years finally getting a line of his own off the ground after years of dabbling in fashion projects for other designers, other shops. His sense of style was legendary, so why not bank on it? So far, so good, too. We were all stupid proud of him. 

 

Very casually, he added, “I’m thinking of starting a line for kids, too.”

 

I looked over, but he was concentrating on his sketch. I was wary. “You are?”

 

“Yeah. We have so many around here. And they’re dolls. Soohyun already knows what she likes and what she hates.”

 

“Well, with you around, that doesn’t surprise me.” I let my head rest again on the back of the chair.

 

“That means I’ve done my job,” he laughed.

 

I yawned. “I expect no less of you, Kim Kibum.” It was peaceful up here, but I didn’t think I was going to find any new insight. I watched the moth flitting around against the backdrop of stars until I had to blink to keep my eyes open. The scratch of Kibum’s pencils was soothing, and the noise of the city far away. I could stay here, in this moment, and moments like it, for the rest of my life, if I wanted. If. Jesus, if I only knew what I wanted.

 

Of course I drifted off. I dreamed I was back in my high school in DC, wandering the halls between classes, only I wasn’t a student any more. I was grown up, but I was still trying to find one class, the one class I was supposed to have been in all semester, except I was always forgetting it, and there was a test today, and I didn’t have any idea what it was about. Finally, I found myself in front of the front doors to the school, and I decided to forget the test entirely, and just leave. Only outside, instead of the street out front that I was used to, there were row after row of cherry trees, in full blossom in the sunlight. 

 

I stared at them in wonder, but then the wind started, and the pale petals began flying off the trees in great, huge clouds. I ran forward, trying to catch them, trying to somehow keep them from stripping themselves away entirely, but there was nothing I could do, and they swirled away from me, endlessly, slipping through my fingers and across my face, flying away.

 

I sat up with a start. The chair opposite me was empty. Kibum and his pencils were gone. 

 

Sitting in the middle of the table, however, was a page from the sketchbook. I reached out and turned it over to see what he had drawn.

 

It was a child. A little girl, perhaps four or five. High cheekbones, barely defined in a baby-soft face. A narrow chin, full mouth. She had a mischievous smile that turned her dark hazel eyes to crescents, and her dark auburn hair was wavy and wild. 

 

I stared at it until the night turned cold, and then, tucking it under my arm, went downstairs to bed.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I swiped my phone open and tapped a number, not bothering to look at the clock. After a few rings, there was a fumbling pickup, and a disorganised pause. Then,
> 
> “You know it’s two in the fucking morning, right?” said a gruff voice in muffled, groggy English.
> 
> “Suck it up,” I replied blithely. “And meet me in London next week.”

I watched my free hours with Jonghyun bleed slowly away as business took up more and more of his time. It was harder, this time, knowing it wouldn’t be the usual cycle of six weeks of frantic activity, followed by possibly months of nearly-normal (for us) togetherness. Now that the boys were all under their own agency, they had more control, but the industry as a whole was relentless and merciless, and it set all the rules.

 

I’ve always been dichotomous about my relationships. I’ve always been fiercely protective of time spent with my lovers, and though parting has always hurt, I’ve been able to adjust quickly, and value my space. Jjong was harder: the separations were longer, and sometimes crueler: he was still around, but only for a few hours’ sleep in the small hours, and gone before I woke up in the morning. He had enough time to take care of his skin, brush his teeth, and— usually— make it to the bed before he was unconscious. Even comfort sex was usually out of the question. And there was nothing I could do except be supportive. And sometimes catch him on TV.

 

Once I got used to it, though, I was usually fine. I had a life before Jjong, and I had a life outside of him. I kept myself busy with the store, and sometimes, took classes or found other involved things to do. Sometimes, I just sat and wrote or read or caught up on me time. Sometimes, I travelled.

 

There was a flyer on the bulletin board above my desk at work. It hung there and looked at me, patiently, immovably. Book Fair, it seduced. Global Marketplace for Booksellers. 25,000 Professionals From All Over The World. You know you wanna. Come on, baby. You know you want it.

 

I swiped my phone open and tapped a number, not bothering to look at the clock. After a few rings, there was a fumbling pickup, and a disorganised pause. Then,

 

“You know it’s two in the fucking morning, right?” said a gruff voice in muffled, groggy English.

 

“Suck it up,” I replied blithely. “And meet me in London next week.”

 

 

 

 

Culture shock coming back to the US is horrifying. I have to translate everything into Korean and then back into English for longer than you’d think, and that’s somewhat of a mindfuck. Everyone is loud and obnoxious and while yes, they’ll whack into you in crowds the same way people in Seoul do, they _do_ consider it rude-- they just don’t care. Being around people of every possibly ethnicity takes some getting used to, too, but that part is more deeply comforting, while also being weird. 

 

London, though, is weird in completely different ways. It’s just as diverse and the language thing is just as bewildering, but people are much more mannered and…I guess bureaucratic is a good way to put it. There is a certain way everything must be done, and a way you talk to other people, and it’s different, but familiar enough after the better part of a decade in Korea that it feels like something is only just off, somehow. It takes some getting used to. Oh, and I spend the first two days trying desperately not to get hit by cars when I cross the street because I always look the wrong way. Big-ass arrows on the asphalt in front of me, and I always look the wrong way.

 

Thank G-d I didn’t have to cross any streets when I invariably came up the wrong entrance from the tube station and had to trot up Oxford Street to Argyll. There was a character-laden pub there I adored— bit crowded, but worth it, and not too packed on a Tuesday afternoon. I wove in through the patrons in the quirky layout until I finally spotted a familiar receding red hairline.

 

“Monkeybutt!” I cried.

 

“Lavatop!” said my brother Reg, rising to his feet and lifting me off mine in a huge hug. “Man, you look good, kid. How was the flight?”

 

I threw my bag under the table, and flopped down into the seat opposite him. “I have to tell you: eleven and a half hours in super first class doesn’t actually suck.”

 

“Damn. Your man wanna upgrade my ticket? I’m only business-class back to Dulles.”

 

“Ha. Don’t tempt him.”

 

“Who’s tempting? What’ll you have?”

 

“I want a burger and I want fries and I do not want them to be cute or artsy or ironic or artisanal in any way, shape, or form.”

 

He snorted, and made off to the bar to order.

 

Some thankfully brief time later, when half my food was in my stomach, I came up for breath. “Jesus, that’s good.”

 

“Do they not feed you over in that place?”

 

“Oh, they do, but I love a good burger. And it’s either terrible fast food or astronomic upscale or something with a title and possibly a biography and a resumé. I just want to eat!” I whined.

 

“Have the chicken?”

 

I shot him a look. “Chicken is an entirely different matter, buddy, and you’d better not diss my adopted homeland’s proficiency.”

 

He laughed, and stole one of my chips. “So how’s the shop doing?”

 

“Quite well. I’m thinking of doing a month on English and American Victorian novels. They always seem to be popular in Seoul. And there are some new translations I found at the Book Fair."

 

"How's that going?"

 

“The Fair? So far, so good. I think I may have found a new distributor for some of my titles, which is both good and bad.”

 

He raised an eyebrow over the rim of his pint.

 

“I currently have this old-school Korean man who’s been in business since the Joseon Dynasty, who dislikes foreigners, women, and anyone younger than he is.”

 

“You hit a home run there, didn’t you?”

 

“Tell me about it. I’ve sworn I’ll either out-stubborn him or just wait til he keels over, but hell, if I can replace him with someone I LIKE dealing with? And maybe save some money?”

 

“Pick your battles.”

 

“Exactly.”

 

“So…a month-long special, hm? He’s gonna be away that long?” Reg did not miss details. I cringed a little inside. 

 

“Yeah. Longer, probably. The new group he signed? He’s prepping them for debut. Then _his_ group has a comeback, and those always suck for me. Meh.” I shrugged. “I like watching him be all sparkly on TV, and I especially like it when he wins, so. If he’s happy, I’m happy. Besides, I get to travel and I get to see you! How’s work?”

 

I was pretty sure this wasn’t the end of it by a long shot, but Reg, for all he was my obnoxious older brother sometimes, was also sensitive, and knew when to leave something be. So we talked about how everything was going back home. Reg had a business doing on-site IT for small businesses in the DC area, and business was booming. (Thus his ability to indulge in his passion— travelling— on a whim.) We talked about how Mom was debating a new embroidery machine for her quilting, and how Dad was having a running battle with squirrels on the back deck.

 

“He got this new bird feeder, right?”

 

“Oh, Jesus, another one?”

 

“Yeah, but this one is supposed to be _absolutely_ squirrel-proof. Guaranteed.”

 

“How long did it take them?”

 

“Six days.”

 

“Well, that’s better than the last one.”

 

“Not by much.”

 

“Did he run out there screaming and waving the rake again?”

 

Reg laughed, and stole another chip, and shrugged. “You know Dad. You finished?”

 

We strolled the pedestrian mall of Argyll Street for a while, taking in the shops. Reg found some cute postcards for his girlfriend, Anna, and I picked some for our parents, plus a few little gifties for him to take back with him. We were making plans to see something at The Globe the next day when I smiled up at him. 

 

“Then we can grab dinner, and we can discuss what’s going on with Dad.”

 

He sighed deeply. “Fuck.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“They didn’t want me to tell you anything.”

 

“When you start a story about Dad vs Squirrel and it doesn’t end in chaos, something’s going on. You gonna tell me, or spend the night thinking up a good story? Cos I’d suggest you tell me.”

 

By this time, we’d been walking for almost an hour, and were back to my hotel. I dragged him inside and pushed him into a seat in the bar, getting us both drinks and fixing him with the pointed stare I knew he couldn’t fight.

 

He took a long sip of his Jack and Coke. “Listen: it really is nothing right now, and they’re both determined to keep it that way.”

 

“Keep _what_ what way?”

 

“You remember last time you were home? Thanksgiving?”

 

“Yeah.” It had been a pretty awesome trip, and Jjong had come with me. He’d been to my parents’ before, and they absolutely adored him, but it had been the first time my twin fourteen-year-old cousins met him, and they became instant hardcore fans on the spot. I’d brought CDs, because oh, I knew those girls, and sure enough, by the time we were ready to go home, he had to sign their CDs and the posters they’d run out to buy, and promise to bring his members to visit when they all came back to the States. But I digress.

 

“Did you notice anything wrong with Dad?”

 

I felt an instant wave of anxiety and knee-jerk guilt. What had I missed? I thought back, hard, and tried to piece through the chaotic trip. And I remembered now what I’d let myself forget over the intervening months, as phone calls and FaceTimes were all normal. Dad had seemed tired a lot that week. He’d watched a lot more than he’d participated. He’d rubbed the back of his neck a lot. No one had said anything about it, and every time I’d asked if he was okay, he assured me he was.

 

“Son of a bitch.”

 

“Yeah. He kept having these headaches. Mom finally got him to go to the doctor in February. _February_! She practically had to threaten to hog-tie him.”

 

“And?”

 

“Turns out it’s hypertension. Pretty severe. So they threw all these prescriptions at him, and told him he had to make all these changes, and it just really threw him. He’s lost some weight already, and he’s taking more walks, cutting back on the salt, and he seems to be doing a lot better.”

 

“So why the hell wouldn’t they tell me any of this?!” If we’d been alone, I would have been up and pacing.

 

“Gee, I can’t imagine,” he said, pointedly noting the way my fingers were digging into the arm of my chair to keep me in it.

 

“Come on, Reg. This isn’t funny.”

 

“It’s not! But you get all worked up and anxious and you flip out, and what were you going to do? You’re 7,000 miles away, and they’re handling it. He’s probably gonna come out of this better than he was before it started.”

 

“I coulda…I don’t know. I could have done something.”

 

“You could have done nothing. Zip. He’s doing it all himself, and Mom’s helping. She’s got new recipes, she’s going on walks with him— it’s all good. He’s gonna be back to chasing the squirrels with the rake pretty soon. He just can’t overdo it right now.”

 

“But they could have said something!” I hated how whiny I sounded.

 

“They were gonna tell you when everything got better!”

 

“When’s that supposed to be? Is he getting better?”

 

“I swear, yes. He’s been seeing his GP regularly, and she’s said he’s improving. So, you know. He just keeps on doing what he’s doing, and he’s gonna be fine.”

 

I rubbed my temples. “All right. All right. Okay. He’s gonna be fine.”

 

“Yes. He’s already getting better. He didn’t have the heart attack, he didn’t have the stroke, he’s not going to. He found out before anything went to hell, and he’ll be fine. No harm done. Okay?”

 

“I’m still gonna kill him for not telling me.”

 

“Stop worrying. He’s gonna. Be. Fine. He’s required to be, I’m told.”

 

“Oh? How’s that?”

 

“Anna wants, like, thirteen kids, and she told him he has to be there to be grandpa to all of them.”

 

I managed to avoid making the sound of all the air being punched out of me. Well, fuck. I hadn’t even thought about that part, yet. Fuck.

 

“Listen,” Reg said, setting down his empty glass. “You gonna be okay?”

 

“Yeah, yeah. I am. I just…you know, I have to get over this, and I should probably get to bed. I have a few panels I want to attend before we hit The Globe.”

 

We stood up, and he moved around the low lounge table to give me a hug. “He’s gonna be fine, okay? Go get some sleep, and I’ll see you tomorrow.”

 

“Okay, okay. I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

 

I gave him a kiss on the cheek, and took the elevator upstairs, locking myself in my room and turning on the television until I fell asleep so I wouldn’t have to think.

 

 

 

 

As I’m sure you can imagine, there was a long talk with the folks the next day. There may or may not have been tears. I will not reveal who may or may not have shed them. There was also a promise of visits very soon— possibly going both ways, once Dad was in better shape for flying. 

 

I spent most of the day at the Fair, making contacts and seeing exhibitors and coming up with completely outlandish but incredibly fun ideas for the store, then met up with Reg again for “A Midsummer Night’s Dream” at The Globe, which filled me with joy. As opposed to the hard wooden bench seats, which filled my butt with annoyance. 

 

The rest of the trip passed in a blur, actually. Reg flew back on Thursday, after a meeting of his own that he’d opportunistically arranged, and which, he happily told me, had worked out very profitably. That’s my brother: never missed a good chance to make a great connection. Midas with an MBA. He took back all my gifts for the family, plus some extra hugs for my Dad. In their place, he left a decent inventory of hugs for me, plus at least one for Jonghyun. 

 

My last evening in London, I took a long walk along the Thames, enjoying the late spring air, and the glitter of the buildings as the sky darkened. It was too flat to give me a view like Seoul’s, but I’d always felt at home, here, and I always found it comforting. I sat sideways on a bench on the Embankment, and watched the London Eye revolve slowly, as people swirled around me. Most of the other benches were full: families out for ice cream, couples out for PDAs. Dogs airing their humans. Pensioners watching the time pass. 

 

I watched the tour boats on the water, half-mesmerized by their slow passage, and the thought of all the centuries people had ferried themselves up and down the waterway. I was amused to think how my trip probably echoed millions of other trips through history: come to London, do some business, meet family, see a play, watch people on the Thames. All the history. All the interconnectedness. Where did I fit in? What would I leave behind?

 

There was a heavy sigh as the bench flexed beneath me, and a blonde woman a few years younger than I wearily took the other half. She smiled at me, warm and polite, and turned to two kids, scrambling up the heavy stone balusters against the edge of the river.

 

“You two fall in and that’s it. I’m leaving you here.”

 

I smiled to myself. She sounded like my mom when I was a kid— just with a cooler accent. 

 

The kids ran up and down the pavement, carefully avoiding anyone else, going nuts over the dogs, pushing each other and laughing. They were boisterous, but not obnoxious. I thought again about time, about continuity. I wondered how many kids had lost their shoes in the mud on the riverbank, how many mothers had scolded them. How many fathers took their kids fishing, how many first fish were caught. And then I glanced out of the corner of my eye at the mother beside me, and I wondered, “How many women never got that chance? How many of them never had those kids?”

 

I bit back a groan. Jesus, what the hell? Was it Philosophy Night on the Thames? Maybe I just needed to get a dog or a hamster or something. Or a cat, if Kibum wouldn’t hiss at it. 

 

I couldn’t stop watching the two kids, a boy about eight and a girl about ten. They both had long, fine, straight brown hair that whipped around as they ran, and free, happy laughs. They made up a game that seemed to be somewhere between tag and a footrace, and played over and over, refining and changing the rules as they went. 

 

A little grey poodle, sitting with its octogenarian owner three benches down, was slowly losing its canine mind, watching them run up and down. Its barks reached an hysterical pitch, despite its owner’s attempts to quiet it, until it finally did some freak half-gainer and broke loose, speeding down the sidewalk towards the children like a mop with rocket engines. 

 

The little girl was a bit quicker to pick up what was happening than her brother, who seemed to be gauging the distance to the next lamppost/finish line. Without missing a beat, she leaned over, snatched the dog right up, and stepped on the other end of its leash just in case. It struggled wildly for half a second, then completely redirected its energy to absolutely bathing her face in kisses. She was giggling nonstop as her brother grabbed the leash, and together, they ran to deliver the squirming pup back to its distraught owner, where they both sat down on the ground to play with and soothe both the overwrought canine and its human.

 

The whole incident had taken less than a minute, I was fairly sure. It was all over before their mother could do more than open her mouth to say something. She sat back, closing it again, and shaking her head. 

 

“If that dog had bitten her….”

 

I smiled. “She’s fearless, hm?”

 

She shook her head. “She’d try to make friends with an angry bear, I’m sure. And he follows wherever she leads.”

 

“Oh, that sounds like trouble,” I grinned.

 

She looked at them warmly. “Eh. They’re good kids. Couldn’t ask for better. We lucked out.”

 

“I think good parents make good kids,” I said. 

 

She laughed. “Thank you! We try. Best go make sure she still has a face after that pup gets done with her. Have a good visit!”

 

I thanked her as she bustled off after her kids and their adoring new furry friend, and then I sat and thought about what I’d said. And I thought about— really thought about— what it would be like not for me to raise kids, but for me to raise kids who had Jonghyun as a father. Who had his mother as a grandmother. Who were half his world, half mine. And somewhere behind my ribs, a small, smug voice wondered aloud if maybe I wasn’t making things harder than they needed to be, and maybe raising kids with someone like him wouldn’t be so dreadful or impossible. Maybe, just maybe, it could even be fun sometimes.

 

I felt cold, suddenly, and then my face got hot. And my stomach lurched. I felt my heart racing. 

 

I pulled my bag into my lap and dug around for a minute until I found what I wanted— a small rectangular case. Yellow, with flowers embossed on it. I flipped it open. Inside, a silver blister pack with only two pills left. Only two. I was at the end of the pack.

 

I was at the end. 

 

There was a rubbish bin next to the bench. I tipped the foil into the bin, put the case back into my bag, and went home.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Noona,” Jaxi said, turning to me, “You’ve been with Jonghyun-hyung for how long now?”
> 
> “Six years in May,” I replied.
> 
> “How do you, you know, how do you keep going?”

I half-expected the familiar face as I came through customs at Incheon: Sanghee, one of the agency drivers, and a lovely if quite shy young man, was standing there scanning the crowd. He bowed politely to me as he jumped forward to take charge of my suitcase and heave my carry-on over his shoulder, despite my protestations. 

 

What I didn’t expect was to find Jonghyun waiting for me in the back seat of the tinted-window car with a bouquet of lilies.

 

Even as my heart leaped up like an excited puppy, I had to ask, “What are you doing here?!”

 

“I really missed you,” he said, that glorious smile lighting up his face as his eyes went soft. I slid into his arms and into his kiss like it was warm water after a cold day, bathing in his smell and his skin and his presence. Both of us needed touch as reassurance, and spent the whole hour-long ride back to Seoul wrapped in each other, petting each other, soothing each other. Going away would always suck, but coming back was like a hit of something black market. I could never get enough. And the scent of the lilies was just intoxicating. 

 

It was already late when I’d landed, and by the time we got back to the building, I was expecting bedtime. I think Jjong was, too, but not quite in the same way: I stopped dead just inside the doorway in shock— the entire apartment was decked in sparkling cut crystal vases of lilies, white and pale pink and green, their perfume everywhere and their petals glowing in the halogen spots that were the only lights. Our home was like the most beautiful greenhouse, like a living jewelry store, and I actually felt my eyes sting. 

 

I looked at him as he set down my bags, and I had to blink quickly to keep tears from spilling. “You did all this?”

 

He nodded, coming closer and folding himself around me, touching his forehead to mine. “I said I missed you,” he whispered. And that was enough for the tears to fall. 

 

 

 

 

We lay sprawled across pillows and sheets together, staring at the amusingly clichéd line of clothing out the bedroom door. The room flickered in candlelight, the air heavy with the scent of lilies. I brushed my fingertips over the teeth marks I’d left in the side of his neck, and he growled, low in his throat. 

 

“I thought you said you weren’t hungry.”

 

“Well, I wasn’t,” I said. “Not for dinner.”

 

He giggled just a little. “Did they feed you well on the plane?”

 

“Oh, not as well as you did, of course. But yes, the food was good, thank you.” 

 

“They’d better not be feeding you like that,” he mock-pouted, pulling an adorable face. I had to giggle back.

 

“I have no desire to join the mile-high club, jagi. Even in First, those bathrooms are small.” I gave him a wicked look and brushed my fingers lightly across his spent cock, whispering in his ear, “And you’re not.”

 

I actually felt it twitch against my fingers, and he let out a slightly strangled laugh. “G-d, you’re insatiable.”

 

“And you’re not? I’m not the one who carved a night out of a wall-to-wall schedule to turn the apartment into…into _Romance Central_ and fuck me senseless against the door. And the floor. And the headboard.”

 

“I—“ he cleared his throat, catching my wrist and deliberately moving my hand away. “Give me a minute, would you?” This time, we both giggled. “And anyway, I was proving a point.”

 

“And what would that be? You’ll always make time for sex?”

 

His smiled turned into something deeper, and he brushed my hair back. “I’ll always make time for you. For us. You need me, and I’m gonna be there. Whatever’s going on. You…you get what I’m saying? And I mean that for, you know…what ever does or doesn’t happen.”

 

My heart lurched up again, and I just nodded.

 

He cleared his throat. “Water?”

 

I nodded again. “While you’re up, could you, uh, grab my bag? My purse, I mean?”

 

“Sure.” 

 

I pushed the pillows up against the headboard (why oh why hadn’t we done that earlier? Ow.), and made a space for us to sit, straightening out the comforter a little. Presently, he came back in, detouring to the bathroom before coming back to bed and putting my purse down in front of me. 

 

“I grabbed your toothbrushes, and your prescriptions. They’re in the bathroom.” He handed me a glass, and I took a long sip of very soothing, cool water before leaning over to put it on the nightstand, next to the bank of red and orange pillar candles. He climbed in next to me, and I leaned up against him, pulling my bag onto my lap and digging through it. I found what I wanted, and moved my bag to the floor. And sat, fidgeting, chewing my lip a moment. I looked up at him, and his quizzical expression froze as he looked down at what I held. 

 

I took a deep breath. “So…uh…I did— I mean, I do get what you’re saying. What you meant. And…uh…I did a lot of, well, I mean, I thought…gah.” I shifted against the pillows, tried again. “I mean…fuck, Jjong. I had this planned out. Never mind. Here.”

 

And into his hands I shoved a familiar small, thin, yellow plastic case.

 

He looked at it. Stared at it. Looked up into my eyes. Swallowed. My toes started to twitch nervously, and I found my lip between my teeth again as my heart thundered and my stomach flipped. 

 

He looked down again. Opened the case. Stared for a long, unbreathing minute.

 

Then he looked back up at me, his face crumpled, and he pulled me into his arms as tears started streaming down his face. And down mine, too.

 

 

 

 

We decided quite easily we weren’t going to make any announcements or talk about our decision quite yet. Not that there was, technically, anything at all to talk about. Long before my trip, I’d done my research and talked to my doctor, and I knew it could be months before I, with my historically uneven cycle, should even think about buying tests and counting days. We also agreed to try, once the giddiness wore off, not to think about it at all, since stressing about it would be counterproductive, and we both had so much else going on. But for a few days, we rode the high of our little secret, and it was delectable. With the decision made, I was amazed how open and light and right I felt. 

 

And the sex was incredible.

 

As the days wore on, though, we settled down. We had to— more sex was great, but full days on five hours of sleep wasn’t as much fun as it had been decades ago. I took to leaving him notes on the kettle late at night, and he left me notes on my tea in the morning. I saw him briefly most nights before he fell into bed, and I sighed, knowing it would only be worse during his comeback. At least I was getting a lot of reading done.

 

Unlike him, however, I had semi-regular hours and at least one day off during the week. I saw my friends and went to shows and went on walks, and a couple of times, I went to the studio where everyone was locked away. The BPFs were co-producing every track on their album, and they were fast as hell learners, but they both needed and wanted Jjong and King there with them. So I’d sit in the back of the control room and listen for a while, learning more about the younger artists, and making sure they ate. Okay, maybe not the latter: they all had enormous energy and required enormous amounts of fuel, so there was always food somewhere, and someone was always ordering something. I was beginning to think they all had a hollow leg or were secretly hummingbirds. The problem was they were, to the last, perfectionists. As was Jjong. Good enough just wasn’t, and they’d work on single bars until their ears bled. They all sometimes needed to be reminded to stop a minute and breathe.

 

They didn’t want to entirely stop doing live shows, but they did want to make sure that when they had a comeback with this new stuff, they’d be seen as properly relaunching themselves. They didn’t want just a new start. They wanted a rebirth. They had to balance that, though, with enough of a simmering buzz to make sure their existing fanbase didn’t forget about them. There were always going to be fans who called them sellouts and fell away, but they wanted it to be clear they were working hard on their own stuff, and were still in creative charge of their career. 

 

They were, therefore, tossing around the idea of a one-off club concert. A small gig for their fans, to test out songs and keep their buzz, well, buzzing. Kibum was delighted with the idea, and, over lunch one Sunday, offered to take any of them who wished shopping for accessories and stage kit.

 

“And it’s all on Jonghyun’s tab, so how can you resist?”

 

JayJay and Jaxi nearly knocked over their chairs in their haste to sign up, while Jjong weakly protested, and I giggled.

 

“Oh, you think this is funny?” he asked, grinning at me.

 

“It _is_ funny!” I kissed him. 

 

“Fine. You can chaperone.”

 

There were communal protestations. Jaxi spluttered. “We don’t need chaperones!”

 

“Not for you,” Jonghyun snorted. “For Kibum, so he doesn’t ruin me!”

 

There was a universal pause, and then a general nodding and murmuring of assent.

 

“Whose side are you all on?!” Kibum laughed.

 

The boys all pointed at Jonghyun. “He signs our checks.”

 

Kibum opened his mouth, then shut it again, shrugging. He knew when he was beaten.

 

He rose, then, and crooked his finger at me. 

 

“Time marches on!”

 

“What, _now_?” I laughed, though I reached for my bag. 

 

“Absolutely.” He turned to Jjong and wordlessly held out his hand. 

 

Jjong groaned, but pulled out his wallet nevertheless, selecting the company card and handing it over.  “Leave me some funds, all right? I have….” He glanced at me, and I felt myself blush. “I have a lot of books I have to buy.”

 

I shook my head and busied myself getting the maknae line out the door, blowing him a kiss.  Oh, this was gonna be fun.

 

Kibum, in his role as stylist and personal shopper, is a force of nature. You answer his questions with absolute truth, and you do what he tells you. He, in return, hears answers you don’t even know you made, and reacts accordingly. His own style is something he alone can really pull off— and I say this in all humility, because many’s the time I’ve looked at him and thought to myself, “What in the name of Jesus are you wearing?” only to later realise he’d read a situation far better than I ever could. But he never imposed the wrong style on someone else. That was his magic talent.

 

He talked to the boys quite casually about what they thought they wanted to wear onstage at their show, and as I listened in no small amount of interest, I realised he’d been thinking about this longer than they had. He’d already gotten ideas from nearly all the others, possibly without them even knowing he was pumping them for information. He was subtle like that. Or devious. Take your pick.

 

The kids usually performed in loose jeans, open button-downs, t-shirts, boots, snapbacks. They took their cues from hip hop artists from the States, but it didn’t always reflect their music, which was many times anything but hip hop. They didn’t really have a fashion style of their own. They didn’t have an identity of their own. For all his mock-whining, Jjong and King and everyone else knew this, and trusted Kibum implicitly to help the young group figure themselves out in the next stage of their growth. 

 

“You’re not going to be an idol group,” he was saying to the boys. “You don’t all need to match. You’re different. You should look different. You should be leaving an impression in your fans’ minds that reminds them who you are whenever they see you in their heads or on TV or in person. You want them to think ‘brainy’? Dress brainy. You want them to think ‘political’? Dress political.”

 

They looked at each other. “But…the music shows—“

 

“Don’t worry about those now. That’s later. Figure out what you want, then figure out how to play it to each audience.”

 

The boys nodded as if Buddha himself were speaking to them, taking in every concept seriously and deeply. Kibum had long since asked all of them to call him hyung, and they all took his wiser, more experienced older brother position seriously. 

 

Thank G-d we’d started at lunchtime, because the boys were fully-fueled. I felt bad for them: I’d at least shopped with Kibum before, and knew what to expect. These poor lambs were trying to hide the panic behind their eyes as he whipped through his favorite shops, oh-so-casually giving them a 701-level crash course in personal fashion and style. More than once, I saw either Jaxi or JayJay pull out their phones and type in frantic reminders to themselves. Kibum saw it too, out of the corner of his sly eyes, but pretended not to. I also saw him take note when they frustratedly missed something, and grinned to myself when he easily and naturally repeated himself later. 

 

We started in the upscale and trendy shops of Hongdae, then— to my surprise— the quirky downmarket jumble of Namdaemun, and then to artsy and indie Samcheongdong. Kibum knew exactly where he wanted to go in each location, and explained his reasoning discreetly: this place had the best-made jackets, this place had t-shirts they wouldn’t find anywhere else, this shop was faster to pick up trends than anyone, this place’s buyer knew what people would be wearing two seasons before they themselves did. He taught them by example: be nice to everyone, listen to the professionals, stick to what you actually liked, and never ever ever pull rank. The boys were dazzled.

 

I’d pulled my hair back again, as I preferred when I was trying to be subtle, but it was pointless: Key had recently gone back to a deep auburn that no hat could entirely hide, and his very existence screamed “Look at me!” There were whispers and giggles on our periphery at all times. They didn’t care so much about me— I was just a convenient confirmation that yes, that had to be who they thought it was. It was _Key_.

 

JayJay and Jaxi had never experienced anything like it before. Their fans were, for the most part, their peers, and very laid-back. People they performed in front of at clubs, then had drinks with at the bar. Key was beloved of millions, and more than once this afternoon, we’d passed shops and stalls literally covered in his and his members’ likenesses. I’d seen them do a thoughtful double-take in front of a skincare shop with a storey-high banner of all of SHINee, looking perfect and sleek and very expensive. Kibum didn’t even pause.

 

Evening came, and the final purchases made. We’d settled into an adorable little restaurant up a couple of flights of stairs from the main road in Samcheongdong. The boys’ eyes were glazed, but Kibum looked almost as fresh as he had that afternoon. The staff was attentive and swift— they knew who’d come in, and they were very, very pleased about it. Kibum was sure to update his Instagram with a catchy photo and location the second our appetizers appeared: it was another lesson for the younger artists in reaping the benefits of being nice to everyone. Not that Kibum wasn’t a diva. Just, you know: time and a place for everything. 

 

All of them set about examining their haul as we waited for our entrees. Though he usually didn’t care much, Kibum knew how to find a bargain, and I hadn’t really thought too much about reining him in with Jjong’s card. (Sorry, dear.) He’d simply been sensible about where the younger men were in their careers, and what they could realistically buy at this point.   They’d gotten a few good pieces in Hongdae and here in Samcheongdong, but they’d picked up some fun accessories in Namdaemun: quirky bracelets, fun hats, interesting rings. Jaxi had a little more of an idea what he liked: dark, sleek, not fussy, but still young. JayJay was still reaching for his onstage identity. Hell, he was still reaching for his _off_ -stage identity, so I couldn’t blame him much. But it was clear a multitude of things were clicking over now in his brain. 

 

The two of them chattered on happily to each other, comparing acquisitions and talking about everything they’d seen. They continued happily when our entrees arrived, but in the lull of everyone digging in, Jaxi frowned. 

 

“What are you thinking?” Kibum prodded him.

 

Jaxi took a sip of his wine and mouthed it thoughtfully for a minute.

 

“How do you get used to…to…belonging to everyone?”

 

Kibum smiled. “You don’t. You never get used to it. You shouldn’t. You should always remember that this is what you’ve done to your own life, and this is what you wanted. But you also remember that when you have fans, they’ve given you their lives, too. They’ve let you mean something important to them, and they want to help you carry the burden.”

 

“What happens when they get too close?”

 

Kibum took a sip of his own drink. “You remember that this is what you’ve done to your own life and this is what you wanted,” he smiled. JayJay snorted. “But also, it doesn’t happen as often as you think it will. Everyone was nice to you today, yes?”

 

Both boys nodded.

 

“Though it isn’t always like that. The way we are here is different from how it is in other countries. It can get wild. In more ways than one.”

 

JayJay raised an eyebrow. Trust him to pick up on the implication first.

 

“You mean….”

 

Kibum fixed him with a needle-like stare. “Don’t even think about it. Don’t. Even. You wander off in a another country with someone and not even Jonghyun can save you. I couldn’t even save you, and I know more tricks than he does.”

 

I coughed on my salad. Everyone ignored me.

 

“We can’t even date here,” Jaxi shrugged. 

 

“Who told you that?” Kibum looked amused.

 

“Well, no one _said_ it, but we’re just signed, and…?” He shot an uncertain look at JayJay, then both of them looked at Kibum.

 

He, in turn, laughed. “I hear you had your horizons broadened at a certain club.”

 

Both young men turned distinctly pink around the ears. “I— I’m really sorry, hyung, I swear—“ Jaxi started.

 

Kibum laughed, possibly more delighted with the young man’s discomfiture than was strictly kind. “Hey. Stop that. My point is it never would have been brought up like that if you weren’t supposed to be dating. I said it before: you’re not going to be idols like we were. Are. And we all have relationships, anyway.”

 

This time it was JayJay who coughed. We all ignored him, too.

 

“You can date,” Kibum said. “Just be smart. Find someone who understands what you do. Find someone who…isn’t going to give you shit for it.”

 

I caught the slight hesitation and suddenly realised I hadn’t seen Clara in a couple of days. Sigh.

 

“Noona,” Jaxi said, turning to me, “You’ve been with Jonghyun-hyung for how long now?”

 

“Six years in May,” I replied.

 

“How do you, you know, how do you keep going?”

 

I munched on my lettuce for a minute or so, thinking what would be useful, here. “I have my own life. He has his. We trust each other, and we let the small things go. We help each other out when time is tight. We always make sure no matter what’s going on that we tell each other how we feel. We always say ‘I love you.’”

 

“You have really crazy sex,” Kibum murmured into his wineglass.

 

“I will beat you to death right here, Kim Kibum,” I said, picking up my steak knife. 

 

“You’ll beat me with a knife?” 

 

“Yes, and I’ll start with your pretty cheekbones.”

 

“Aieeee!” he mock-howled, giggling and clamping his hand over his face. The boys were delighted, rocking in their chairs with laughter.

 

“I will admit,” I went on, when everyone was calmer, “That yes, there is some truth in your salacious words. We do have sex. As to whether it is crazy or not, that’s a matter of opinion.” I sniffed deliberately, turning up my nose at Kibum, who giggled again. “There are a lot of people who will give you grief for even talking about it, and want you to pretend you’re chaste as fenceposts, but bah. I think that’s silly. There’s nothing wrong with sex, and no one should make you feel like there is. As long as you’re smart, and kind, and you don’t hurt anyone.”

 

Jaxi’s mouth twisted. I remembered hearing rumours of a bad breakup in his not-so-distant past. 

 

“Look, coming at this from the girlfriend’s point of view, just be honest. If you want to hook up with someone, be upfront about that. If you can’t do a relationship, say so. Don’t promise anything just to get sex. Once you’re out there and making a big name for yourselves, you’re going to get a lot of offers. Some of them are going to be people who just want a notch on their bedpost. Some of them are going to be really sincere.”

 

“Some of them are going to be several gates short of a palace,” Kibum wryly interjected.

 

“Oh, yeah. Holy hell, yeah. Jjong has, as the saying goes, seen some shit, man.”

 

“And he tells you about it?” JayJay looked scandalised. 

 

“Absolutely he does. He tells me everything. I tell him everything. I mean, he doesn’t tell me how many mouthfuls of rice he had at lunch, but we _want_ to share our lives. He tells me his crazy, I tell him mine. Sometimes, he’s the only person I can talk to about some things.”

 

“Like what?” Jaxi asked. 

 

Abruptly, my flow was brought up short. “Well….”

 

“Oh, do go on,” Kibum pushed. 

 

“Well, I mean…nothing in particular, just….” Eh, in for a penny. My elbows hit the table. “Well, one of the things that got me hooked on him in the first place is how socially conscious he is. That he’s a feminist. I saw that and it was the sexiest fucking thing ever. Women in Korea are…there’s this idea they’re not supposed to talk much about sex. Not in public. I mean, in general. Younger women are starting to be cool with it, but older generations think women just don’t talk about those kinds of things. They’re not supposed to talk about it, they’re not supposed to think about it— G-d forbid they’re actually _having_ it. Which is bull, because of course they are. There’s just a lot of gender stereotyping and misogyny. But Jonghyun— he was willing to talk about things like that. He didn’t have that misogynistic attitude. We talk about everything. It’s just. We can talk. And I really like that. I feel free with him. I mean, everything’s relative and I’m comparing here to back home in the States where we don’t give a damn and just open our mouths and let whatever we think drop out.”

 

JayJay laughed, and opened his mouth to say something, then abruptly shut it with a snap, blushing fire-engine red around the ears.

 

“Whaaaaat?” I said, warily.

 

“Nothing, noona!” he said quickly.

 

“Out with it,” Kibum smirked. “She’s probably heard it all before.”

 

JayJay looked to Jaxi, but the older boy’s look very clearly said there was no help to be found there.

 

“Um. They just say…you know…American women….”

 

Both my eyebrows ascended slowly towards my hairline, and JayJay looked like he would have given all his worldly possessions to sink straight through the floor into Hades. Kibum’s smirk deepened.

 

“Do go on,” I said neutrally.

 

“They…uh…it’s just stupid talk my friends say.” I could almost hear his unspoken _“Please don’t hurt me.”_

 

“American women will…?”

 

JayJay leaned back, trying to get his shoulders to swallow his head. “Um. S-sleep with anyone?”

 

I let that sit for a second, just to watch him squirm, because it was slightly adorable. But only a second. “Listen. We have very strange ideas about sex in the States. People think lots of different things. Personally? I think there is nothing inherently wrong with sex. The problems are when people lie about their intentions, or are cruel, or stupid. There’s nothing wrong with not having sex, either. Whatever you do, you have to own it. You have to be an adult about it. Sleep with whomever you want, or don’t— but accept the consequences. Again, that’s why Jonghyun and I get on so well. We agree on the basics of this stuff.”

 

“And he’s good in bed.” Kibum stage-whispered.

 

I picked up my knife again. Kibum giggled again.

 

“I like sex,” I said, raising my chin. “I see nothing wrong with that. So, may I point out, young man, do you.”

 

He nodded merrily. “Yeah. I even have extra people I have to keep happy.”

 

JayJay’s eyes went wide, and he looked back and forth between Kibum and me. “Do— do you—“

 

“No,” I laughed. “No. He has more than he can handle right now.”

 

Kibum sighed, knocking back the rest of his wine. “You have no idea.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I beg your forgiveness: I apparently posted nine twice, and ten not at all. This is the actual Chapter 10, wherein much fun is had by most.

Weeks started to fly after that. The Ballpit Ferrets— as I still called them in my head without exception— repaid everyone’s faith with such hard work Jonghyun laughingly had to tell them more than once to get out of the studio and go home to sleep. Most of them at least made the attempt. Others? Not so much.

 

They all sang and/or rapped, but not all of them were dancers. Four of them, however, were— and devotedly so: Jaxi and Hyunwoo, the very tall Seungjun, and another young man by the name of Teo, who was not quite as tall as Seungjun, but had a slinky, slender, boneless quality about his dancing that reminded me of Taemin. In fact, he seemed utterly starstruck not by any of the big-name idols with whom he now mixed—  not Jjong, Kibum, Minho, Jinki, nor any of their famous friends who dropped by all the time— but solely by Taemin. It was probably also a slight bit of a crush, not helped by Taemin’s natural flirtiness, and the fact that the maknae still got a thrill out of being a hyung to someone, and a sunbae.

 

What also didn’t help was that the four of them had long wanted to do some advanced choreo to a couple of their songs, and Taemin, with an angelic smile, had offered to help. Hyunwoo, Seungjun, and Jaxi were loudly enthusiastic, but poor Teo went slightly pale and his eyes flew wide in half panic, half hope. Taemin genuinely preferred girls by a good bit, but he flirted like he breathed, and attention was attention. Of course, he’d never in a million years hurt anyone, or do anything to screw up his hyung’s protégées, or— from a purely business point of view— wreck the bottom line of a company in which he was a heavy investor. But a little playing? He was all over it. And because there is a large and ever-churning brain behind those innocent eyes, he also rather shrewdly saw it as an opportunity to both loosen and toughen Teo up a bit, and I had to admit that was probably a good plan.

 

When the four younger artists weren’t endlessly rehearsing vocals in the company studios fifteen minutes away, they were with Taemin in the dance studio in the sub basement of our building. With Jjong not just at the young group’s vocal rehearsals, but also starting to lay down guide tracks for his own group’s upcoming album, I had plenty of free time, and I liked to grab a few extra water bottles and some kimbap and wander down to watch. The boys welcomed the snacks, and every once in a while, asked earnestly for feedback. 

 

It was tense for all of them. They had all known each other since they were kids, and performed together now for almost two years. They had their routines and their roles. It was clear as day on their faces that they struggled with reordering themselves to listen to Taemin and change up their dynamic. But Taemin was older and vastly more experienced, and still held the honour of being one of the best dancers in K-pop, so they tried hard to swallow down their misgivings, and throw themselves into the work. 

 

That first week was hard to watch. I had to hide my sympathy as they all started lobbing ideas around, and Taemin very politely but firmly rejected most of them— rightly— as being too trite, or too simple, or too awkward. He did, however, get at the underlying mood they wanted to create with the two songs they’d chosen to choreograph: a slinky number called “Scales,” with coy statements on gender dynamics, and a desperate political song called “Mountains/Valleys,” pleading for more tolerance from older generations for the idealism and activism of the young. Hyunwoo had written the latter himself, and was very attached to it. 

 

By the second week, he, and the rest of them, were learning to let go. Slowly, and painfully. They were a little like cats left too long at the shelter, used to fending for themselves, slowly discovering the benefits of a forever home. They slowly unlocked their hearts, so to speak, and their dance talents soon followed. By the third week, they’d figured out the physical language Taemin was speaking, and had become fluent in it. And the conversation flowed through their bodies.

 

I was shocked. They’d become so fluid and tight, it was a joy to watch them. It was screamingly obvious they’d had the talent all along, but didn’t know how to tap into it. Being able now to open up the throttle, they shaped and bent the framework Taemin had given them until it was their own, until they were developing their own style. It was exciting and beautiful, and though I sat in a corner and barely moved, I sometimes left for the evening quite breathless.

 

Late one night, while they were sculpting and trimming and reshaping one part of the slinky “Scales,” the door opened very quietly, and Jjong slipped in as unobtrusively as he could, dropping onto the bench beside me. None of the tightly focussed dancers at the other end of the room seemed even to notice. I pulled out a slice of kimbap, and fed it to Jjong, who sighed and put his head on my shoulder, watching.

 

Taemin stamped out the rhythm of the section while the other four spun themselves from a tight cluster to a square, finishing in a variety of dynamic poses. There was something missing, and they were all trying to figure out in which direction to take it, when Taemin opened his mouth. Before he could make a sound, Teo barked at everyone to freeze, then ran around all of them, posing them: Hyunwoo and Seungjun in the back with their arms up, Jaxi in the front, half crouched on one side, and he himself would take the other— almost as if all of them were on a plane tilted at a 45 degree angle. There was a general nodding, and Taemin hid a smug, proud grin. They started the section over, then did it again— the new choreo did exactly what they wanted. They started from the top, and flew through the whole thing. So of course, they did the whole thing again. And once more.

 

It was perfect. Taemin reached out and slung his arms around Teo’s shoulders, congratulating him on an excellent job. Teo just glowed, proud and happy.

 

I couldn’t help but feel proud and happy, too. They were everything Jjong had hoped they’d be. They were going to do so well.

 

“They’re ready, baby,” I murmured to my lover. “They’re going to blow the doors off.”

 

When he didn’t respond, I looked across the room into the mirror to find he’d fallen fast asleep on my shoulder. I gently kissed the top of his head and let him sleep. He didn’t need me to tell him. He didn’t even need to watch the rehearsal to see how amazing they were. He’d known all along.

 

 

 

 

The club had a balcony at the back: small, meant mostly for the follow spots. But it also doubled as a VIP area, and I sat there, sipping my drink, chatting with Minho and Eunji. Silver sat beside me, casting a professional eye over the setup, and, as usual, not saying much. Kibum and Jjong were somewhere down below for the moment: Kibum networking, no doubt, and Jjong spending the last few minutes backstage with the boys. I’d gone with him to hug everyone, but made my way out fairly quickly: I’d come to love the boys, but this was Jonghyun’s night more than mine. And the boys’ night more than ours. 

 

The marketing department and the social media and street teams had done their work: the small club was packed. Some people were here no doubt because they knew there’d be idols in the audience, but most people were here for the boys themselves. Old fans, curious new fans, and people who weren’t fans at all— yet. _Just wait_ , I thought. 

 

I saw Jjong’s silver hair snaking through the crowd, and my heart thumped in anticipation. I bit my lip, thinking about the young men backstage. Were they nervous? Did they have stage fright? Was this old hat to them? 

 

Minho poked my arm and laughed at me, reading my expression too easily. “You’re probably more nervous than they are.”

 

I had to laugh, myself. “I’m sure. I am _not_ a performer.”

 

“Exhibitionist?” Kibum came up behind us.

 

“Takes the right audience, buddy. You finished schmoozing?” Teaching them all a little Yiddish had been my greatest achievement, and you really haven’t lived until you’ve heard the old tongue in a Korean mouth.

 

He looked out over the crowd below us. “Maybe, maybe not. Lots of good people here tonight. I have some high hopes.”

 

Minho picked up on it faster. “You’re kidding. Love calls already?”

 

Kibum shrugged, his expression sly. “We shall see.”

 

“Holy fuck,” I murmured, stunned. Kibum just smiled.

 

Jjong slid onto the stool next to me just as the lights went down. I took his hand, looking into his gorgeous eyes, feeling stupidly proud and excited. He was outwardly calm, but to those of us who knew him, he was practically quivering.

 

“They’re good?” I asked.

 

“Probably better than me,” he admitted ruefully, bouncing our hands on his thigh distractedly.

 

Taemin came up behind him and put a hand on his shoulder. Jinki appeared behind Minho. The five of them just looked at each other wordlessly through the peaking screams and cheers from the waiting crowd, exchanging emotions. I could maybe guess in a vague way what they might all be thinking together, and even that made my eyes sting a bit. Man, I’d been in Korea too long: look how sentimental I was getting. I ducked my head, not wanting to intrude on something so very private. 

 

Then the lights flashed, and in huge letters across the back of the stage, in bright blue, the Ballpit Ferrets’ actual name:

 

“SKYLIGHT.”

 

And the show began.

 

 

 

 

An hour and a half later, I was hoarse and giddy like a 60s schoolgirl after her first Beatles concert. I had tried, for the sake of decorum, to control myself, but man. _Man_. These kids were so good, and they were _so_ on. They weren’t an idol group, strictly speaking, but they had the ease and professional slickness that the best idol groups had. They had the tightness that comes from working for years with the same much-loved team. They weren’t rookies— they’d performed live too many times in front of too many audiences. And while they were up there, they oozed confidence. I hadn’t seen them live before, and perhaps I’d assumed, from watching them in rehearsals, that they’d be less sure, but no. Whatever Jjong had done for them had enhanced their existing spirit. I was seeing now what he’d seen months ago: they were already fantastic, and they had so, so much potential.

 

I was used to more of a pop crowd, of course, so the more indie/hip-hop aspects of their style were somewhat unfamiliar to me. Definitely not to the crowd, though. The entire club was bouncing in time, roaring along happily to their older tunes, listening and cheering for the new. 

Halfway through the set, they did “Mountains/Valleys,” and followed it with “Scales.” The crowd was, perhaps, a little confused that some of the boys were dancing like idols, but they went with it, and by the end of the second song, they'd made their approval clear. 

 

By the tumultuous end of the show itself, Jjong and everyone else up in the box made their own approval clear. The boys were all happy that their investment was going to pay off, and that the young artists they’d come to think of as friends and dongsaengs had excelled all expectations. Everyone clapped Jonghyun on the shoulder or hugged him. It was a good night.

 

We all made our way down a back staircase to the dressing rooms, where the decibel level was comparable to what the crowd’s had been. The door was open, and Hyunwoo spotted Jonghyun before the elder had even walked in, screaming his name and launching himself across the room to envelop him in a huge hug. The boys seethed around him, and around Taemin and Key, radiating victory. There was champagne and soju, and as the boys peeled off sweaty clothing and pulled on fresh shirts, they were excitedly chattering in their own personal shorthand about where they should go next to celebrate. I stood on the sidelines with a bottle of water, enjoying their energy and grinning. I felt Jjong come up behind me.

 

“You want to go celebrate with them?” I asked over my shoulder, amused.

 

“No,” he said, looking past me at the general mayhem. “They did this themselves. I trust them. And besides….”

 

His arms slid around my waist, and he pressed his body up against me. I probably didn’t quite hide my entire full-body jerk of surprise as his erection pushed against my ass. I took a swig of my drink to hide the furious blush I felt racing across my face as I tried not to giggle. It was a momentary fight to swallow. 

 

“I had some different ideas for working out all this adrenaline,” he murmured in my ear.

 

“Oh, did you now?” I ground my hips back against him subtly as I could, biting the inside of my cheek as he made a involuntary sound much like a stuttering growl in my ear. I was already plotting the quickest route to the car and calculating traffic. And we could avoid the inevitable cascade of teasing if we could just get out of here without—

 

From the other side of the room, Kibum’s snarky grin told me that ship had sailed. Looking around the room at the rest of his brothers, I realised it was a small fleet. 

 

It was precisely then that Jaxi called out to Jjong from the sofa, where a very attractive girl was sitting on his lap, good-naturedly poking the young man in the sternum. 

 

“Hyung!” he cried, “Come with us! We’re going drinking!”

 

I canted my hips back against him, reducing whatever he might have said to the tiniest, bitten-off yelp, and cheerily and loudly cried back, “Sorry, Jax, he can’t. I’m going to take him home now and fuck his brains out.”

 

There was instant silence, and I fixed Jjong’s brothers with the biggest, smirkiest smile in my power. Then I grabbed Jonghyun’s hand, smiled into his wide, shocked eyes, and dragged him straight out the door.

 

The roaring laughter that exploded after us carried all the way to the street.

 

 

 

 

You can’t say something like that and not mean it. You just can’t. 

 

I’m fairly certain I actually bruised him throwing him up against the back of our front door the second it closed behind us. I mean, he’s six times as strong as I am, has shoulders like a battlecruiser, an eight-pack, and a good four or five inches on me height-wise, but though I be but little, I am fierce, and I had the element of surprise. I had his merino pullover up and behind his head before he could even regain his balance, and with a good, strong yank, I pulled it down behind his back, trapping his arms. Twisting it, even, for good measure. Thank G-d there was a great dry cleaner on the ground floor.

 

He practically snarled my name, but I had him well and truly off balance, and he couldn’t get his feet under him. His bootheels slid on the marble floor of the foyer, making even the attempt dangerous. Deliciously so. I slid my thigh between his, grinding up against what had to be almost painful at this point. He gasped, and I took the opportunity to all but attack him with a searing kiss, not really caring that now the both of us were sliding down the door together. With my weight on top of him, his arms were pinned behind him, and I had free rein to do what I wanted to the rest of his body. 

 

I straddled him, circling my hips down hard until he was panting into my mouth, his own hips twitching up as I drew my head back, almost kissing him, but not quite, teasing him, feeling his breath hot on my lips. I looked down into his eyes and shuddered— he was feral, wild, all teeth and jaws, and if I gave him the chance he would eat me alive. Fuck, wouldn’t he just.

 

I ran my nails across his collarbones, dipped my head to bite at that mole centred just below the hollow of his throat, and scraped my teeth against one nipple as my thumb teased the other. His whole body bucked, and I used the momentum to shift back enough to get my other hand to the button of his jeans. 

 

“You want me to touch you, baby?” I whispered, teeth against his ear. “You were so good tonight, so fucking hot. I was so fucking proud of you. Can I touch you? Would you like that?”

 

“Do it,” he groaned. “Do it, fuck— ah!”

 

My hands had already been working, and they reached their goal: freeing him from those stiff new jeans and supplying a completely different kind of sensation. His groan was nearly a whine as I brushed my fingers so, so lightly over the length of his desperately hard cock, teasing him until he nearly thrashed against the wall.

 

“More, baby?” I whispered again. “More?”

 

With a snarl, he whipped his face around and caught my mouth with his, biting into my bottom lip until I gasped. It felt like someone had plugged a bolt of lightning into the base of my spine, and it was flying through my body and coming out of my skin. I reached down again, and we both cried out as I sank down on him, my fingers coming up to clench in his hair, my hips picking up a rhythm fast and relentless. 

 

Neither of us were going to last like this, and I didn’t fucking care, throwing my body around with nearly mindless abandon. I leaned in, kissing him desperately, clawing at him, crying his name into his mouth. Almost, almost—! I threw myself back, bracing my hands against his shins, and the change in angle shot me through with that lightning again. I lost control, I lost the pace, riding him blindly, so, so, so almost almost—!

 

I screamed, my nails breaking skin as I arched, undulating, shuddering, twisting, sobbing, feeling him surge up under me with a long, broken cry. I could feel him pulsing inside me as my body shook, sensations exploding against my skin from the inside. I was in freefall, I was weightless, and it went on and on until I lost myself, blown out, blissed out. I rocked, rocked, slowing down, every ounce of frenetic energy washing out of me at once, slumping forward against his chest, my head in the crook of his neck. We were panting, the both of us, in time, hearts galloping. I was dizzy, not sure what was his body moving and what might have been the building swaying. I was still tingling. There was thunder rolling away into the distance under my skin. I closed my eyes, drifting after it.

 

It may have been a minute, it may have been an hour, but I felt his abs tighten as he sat up, holding himself away from the wall just enough to work his way out of his sweater. His hands stroked my spine, and I purred, curling closer. I don’t know how he managed it— balance and strength and magic, but he lifted me up, standing up, and carried me into the bedroom. 

 

As we curled together, skin on skin in our bed, I smiled sleepily at him.

 

“Did you have a good night, jagiya?”  I asked him.

 

He smiled, pulling me closer. “I had a good night.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I do apologise for the long break-- I was actually back in Seoul, having a lovely Daydream.

Work, work, work.

 

Eunhee and Minhyuk were troupers. They stayed late and helped me set up displays, moved stock when my damned shoulder started bothering me yet again (I was seriously going to have to call the guy Clara’d told me about), and wordlessly put tea in my hand when I started flagging. But in fairly short order, we had the special promotions set up in the store, and the nook for readings reorganized with chairs, pillows, and a little coffee station. Our first reader was going to be an Englishwoman who’d written a smart, witty book about the private lives of Regency servants, and according to our mailing list, we were going to have a decent little audience for it on the morrow.

 

But tonight was done, and I was done, and it was way, way past time to go home. 

 

Which was why we collectively groaned when we heard a knock at the door.

 

“Absolutely not. We closed hours ago. I don’t care if they want eighteen art books— we are closed,” I said firmly.

 

Eunhee sighed, and shuffled off towards the door to politely tell off our out-of-luck potential customer, while Minhuk put away the stepstool and broke down the last box. But then there was a whimpering, stifled yelp from the direction of the front door, and my ears perked up. 

 

“Oh!” I said, “It’s Taemin.” I called out to Eunhee, “Let him in!”

 

I went off to put my desk back together for the night, and collect my purse, reminding Minhyuk as I got ready to leave I’d be in late tomorrow morning, since I’d be handling the evening’s event. He himself was debating staying after his shift for it, since he loved history, and thought it sounded like a good topic. I had just picked up my purse and bid him goodnight when Taemin wandered back, terrible grin on his face.

 

“Did you kill my assistant manager, Taemin? I mean, I feel like we have to have this talk every time you come visit.”

 

“We _do_ have this talk every time I come visit,” he breezed. “Yet she’s still not dead.”

 

“You are evil.”

 

“I am appreciative of pretty people!”

 

“Oh, G-d." I just shook my head, resigned. “You want a ride h— oh, dammit, I took the subway in. Want—“

 

“No, no— I drove. Do _you_ want a ride?”

 

“I would love one. Thanks. All done at the studio?”

 

“Yeah. I had Hyoseong in class today. I don’t know what Jisoo’s done for her, but it’s made such a difference.”

 

“I haven’t seen her up there in a bit, but the last time I saw Jisoo, she looked— you know, I’d say ‘more relaxed,’ but she always looks so serene! She just sort of looked… _more_ serene, you know?”

 

He laughed as we made our way out through the now-empty store, Eunhee also having bolted. “I do know. She seems happy. And Hyoseong does, too. I know she’s busier now than ever, but she just seems a little brighter. She’s wearing nail polish.”

 

I raised an eyebrow. “I’m impressed that you noticed that, and I’m impressed that she did that. And I’m really, really glad.” I wrestled with the lock a moment, beating it into submission. “She seems like such a wonderful young woman. Still dancing well, too?”

 

“Better than ever. Her dad thanked me tonight when he picked her up. He says she’s happier at home, even though he sees her a little less. He’s very happy she gets to take care of children and act like a lady.”

 

“I shall withhold my snort at enforced gender roles, and appreciate he obviously loves her tremendously. He sounds like a very good man.”

 

“He is, he is. You’ll have to meet him one day.” He unlocked the door of the shiny white Beemer pulled up in the street outside just as his phone pinged. By the time he closed my door and got in on the other side, he was putting it back in his pocket. “Kibum’s home, wants to hang out a while. I told him I’m bringing you.”

 

“Oh, did you, now?”

 

“Yeah. Jongginnie-hyung won’t be home for hours.”

 

I clipped my seatbelt as we took off. “I haven’t seen Clara lately. Have you?”

 

“Well. I know she had a gig in Sapporo earlier this week. Far as I know, she got back…yesterday? Day before?”

 

“Mm. Guess we shall see.”

 

“Yeah. How’s your dad?”

 

I sighed. “He’s doing a lot better. Mom says he’s lost almost 20 pounds by now, and the blood pressure’s come down a lot. I think they feel guilty for not telling me what was going on, so I’m shamefully leveraging that into a promise to visit.”

“Oh! You’re devious!”

 

“I am,” I laughed. “When it’s for family? Watch out, man.”

 

“They all sound nice from what you’ve said.”

 

“They are. And next time you come to the States, Jonghyun had to promise my cousins you’d all come over. They’re fourteen, and _madly_ in love with him.”

 

I saw his eyes narrow slightly. “In love with _him_ , are th— Oh. Ohhh! Noona, you _are_ devious! I’m impressed.”

 

I grinned my best Cheshire grin. “I did warn you.”

 

“Have you always been and I just didn’t notice it?”

 

“If you’d noticed my wicked ways, I wouldn’t have been very good at them, now, would I?”

 

He wound up giving me the side-eye most of the way home.

 

Clara was, indeed, home. On the couch, in fact, with Silver wrapped protectively around her, his face impassive. Kibum sat in the corner of the soft, white, L-shaped sectional, sketching, legs stretched out almost touching Clara's thigh, but not quite. Taemin hesitated almost imperceptibly on his way into the room, as if he were a dog, scenting the air. I couldn’t blame him; I felt the tension, too.

 

The coffee table was covered with delivery, in neatly-set, untouched patterns. Kibum put his sketchpad down on the ridiculously fluffy white area rug, his face also impassive. “We waited for you. Hope you’re hungry.”

 

I put on my game face, smiling. “I’ve had a long-ass day. You bet I am.”

 

Taemin went back into the kitchen for drinks, and I folded myself up on the rug beside the low table, pulling out napkins and counting out chopsticks for everyone.

 

“How was everyone’s day?” I asked mildly.

 

Silver and Kibum exchanged looks, but Clara, with her arms folded, staring at her knees, said nothing. Okay, then.

 

Taemin settled beside me, handing me a glass of the lemon tea I always had at Kibum’s and which I was perpetually threatening to steal wholesale from his fridge. I thanked him, still serene, and he wisely directed his attention to the food, opening carefully wrapped dishes and bowls. He thoughtfully put the jjangmeyon and japchae closest to me— I was already happy.

 

“How’s the exhibit going?” I looked up at Silver as Kibum reached over and started fixing himself a plate.

 

Silver pondered a few moments. “It’s gone better than expected. I hear it got some good reviews, so more people came out than I thought might.”

 

I shook my head fondly. “Trust you not to read your own reviews.” 

 

“No. Never. Not much point to it— I’m going to do what I’m going to do, so.” He shrugged.

 

I gestured to the table, but he gave a small shake of his head, his arms still wrapped around a silent Clara. Well, Taemin wasn’t a teenager any more, but he could certainly put a hurting on a table of food. It wouldn’t go to waste, at least, despite the thick air in the room. Thank G-d I was hungry, too, because otherwise, I probably would have begged off early, cowed by the awkwardness. But as it was, Kibum, Taemin and I worked our way through food and conversation, with a little input for the latter from Silver, now and again. Through it all, Clara sat, motionless, with a thousand-yard stare, Silver’s arms curled around her, and his fingers sometimes stroking her skin lightly, comfortingly. The only thing louder in my brain than the voice telling me to ask what was wrong was the voice telling me not to. I knew from experience I couldn’t help, that Clara didn’t want help, and her boys wouldn’t break her confidence unless the situation were dire. And there was likely nothing I could have done, anyway. It was frustrating, and the frustration sometimes felt a lot like irritation, which I knew was unfair, and which made me angry with myself. None of it was healthy for anyone. 

 

But then, somewhere in the lull after we’d finished eating, while Kibum and I were talking about some truly terrible new public art statues in Gangnam, I glanced over at our silent companion and saw that her eyes were closed, and tears were slowly rolling down her face. I looked quickly back at Kibum. He had already noticed, and the impassive expression slid down over his face again like a shield, tightening his jaw just slightly. I saw Taemin’s hand on the table slowly curl closed.

 

Smoothly, he turned to me. “When is Jonghyunnie-hyung supposed to be home tonight?”

 

“I’m not sure,” I shrugged casually, taking his lead. “He might be there already-- I should check.” I turned to Kibum. “Does this all go into the fridge?” 

 

His eyes swept across the remains of the meal, but fixed again on his lover. “You can leave it,” he said quietly. “I’ll get it later.”

 

Taemin and I both rose, thanking our hosts. Kibum’s eyes were still on Clara, and Silver just seemed shut down entirely. I’m not sure any of them heard us leave. 

 

Out in the hall, Taemin looked lost and pale. Instinctively, I gave him a hug. “Come upstairs,” I said. “Come sit with us a while.” He nodded, wordlessly. Sunny emotions gave him no pause: he was made of light. Even someone crying in happiness didn’t bother him— his hyungs sobbing after a win or an award made him glow with love. But grief and pain and rage dimmed him, threw him off balance. He was not taking it well.

 

Jjong was indeed home, sitting on the couch with his head back, eyes closed, half asleep. But he roused as we walked in, and took in our expressions with concern.

 

“What happened? Kibum texted me you were down there….?”

 

I could only gesture vaguely. “We don’t know. Clara’s back and she’s just sitting there completely silent and we’re eating and then all of a sudden we look up and she’s just crying. Not a sound, just crying. I have no idea what’s going on.”

 

Jjong’s eyes flicked to Taemin, who still looked disturbed. 

 

“Taeminnie,” he said softly.

 

With a sigh, Taemin crossed the room and sank down on the couch beside Jjong, curling up and putting his head on his hyung’s lap. He was lost in thought, frowning, as Jjong laid a hand on his hair.

 

I pulled the throw from the back of the couch and laid it over him before curling into Jonghyun’s other side, lacing my fingers with his when he put his arm around my shoulders. 

 

Taemin sighed again, softly. “I just don’t understand.”

 

Jjong stroked his hair soothingly. “None of us do.”

 

 

 

 

The reading was hugely enjoyable, and successful. Yeonseo, my outspoken friend, and Amy-the-fellow-expat came. Jisoo brought Soohyun, who was beautifully behaved. After the crowd had gotten their books signed and gone, we, along with the author, a lovely woman by the name of Emily, sat sipping tea and gossiping about long-dead maids and masters while Soohyun slept on a giant pillow. 

 

By the time that hot afterparty broke up, I was feeling restless. I wandered in circles, closing up the shop, putting things away, getting everything ready for the next day. Feeling like something was missing, like the things I was touching weren’t real. Like I was displaced. I’d felt that way so often the first few months in Korea— that I wasn’t really there, that I somehow existed more like a ghost than a real person. It had been so strange then: I didn’t have friends, I didn’t have the language skills, I showed up at my job and people ignored me as the whole place was burning down around our ears. Back then, I’d taken to hopping from one tea shop to another, ordering small cups of scalding hot black tea, green tea, chai. I would sit, sometimes, and watch people come in and out, or pass on the street. Sometimes, I would wander the side streets and the markets, clutching the paper cup until my palms cried from the heat, just to feel something. When it was really bad, I’d take a sip. Just a sip. The burn hurt, but it grounded me, in a horrible way. I clutched it in my ribs, in my skull. _I’m here, I’m really here._ And sometimes, kids hanging on their parents’ hands, or babies in slings and strollers would look up, eyes wide, at the strange pink girl with huge orange cloud hair. And I would stare back, suddenly feeling the sidewalk beneath me, and the press of the buildings and the air and the crowds. Just for a minute. Then the child would move, and I’d fade again. The stranger with the tea, 7,000 miles from home.

 

I locked the door, stroking the glass with a finger. This was mine. This I had made mine. This place. I curated the books, and paid the bills, and signed the checks. I had a business. I had friends. I had a home, I had someone there. Our shoes in the closet, toothbrushes in the bathroom. Prescriptions in the medicine cabinet. Leftovers in the fridge. 

 

I found myself walking without truly thinking about it. The streets had seemed so haphazard at first— what might be a back alley at home was a perfectly viable commercial address here. Losing my timidity about dark alleys being places I shouldn’t intrude had been hard. And sometimes painfully awkward. But I’d learned. I’d adjusted. So why did I feel adrift again all of a sudden?

 

There were few cars now, even on the broad main roads, still blindingly lit with neon and swirling LEDs. Shops and offices stacked up to the sky. A coffee shop, and an electronics store, and a plastic surgeon’s, one atop the other. Jewelry stores. Coloured contact lenses. Did I need a new cell phone? Did I need makeup? A new moisturizer? What did I need? What did I want? 

 

I kept walking, past all of them. Past everything. I could still see the stars when the bright signs faded. _What do you want? What do you need?_ I saw Clara’s face in my head: her silent, stony expression, and the tears sliding down her cheeks. The way Silver’s fingers had curled around her thin wrists almost as if he was keeping her from taking herself apart. I had been angry. Unfairly irritated. I felt myself flush: I didn’t like being made to feel helpless. Vanity and conceit: I wanted to be able to fix her, and I couldn’t. She didn’t want me to help her, no matter what my instincts said. She didn’t want her lovers to help fix her. I couldn’t help them. I couldn’t help Taemin, couldn’t ease the shock like a stone thrown into his brightness. Jjong could. Like Jjong could hold Kibum when he cried, and offer up support I didn’t even comprehend. I loved the boys. All of them. But I was outside that bond they shared. That was all right, that was good, and I loved that bond the way I loved them: fiercely, protectively. But sometimes, sometimes, it made me wistful. And sometimes, I felt brittleness: they were so strong, but the rest of us? Their periphery? Were our bonds to them, to this life, as strong? They would always be one. But us…?

 

I know my place, now. I do. Right? It gets away from me, I guess, but I know it. Don’t I? I have my life, and I have my lover. And I have my friends and my family back home. I shouldn’t feel wrong or lost. I shouldn’t. I’d just had a lovely night, an event I’d created. A thing I’d done.

 

But again and again, I saw the tears, I saw the tension on Kibum’s face. 

 

Was it all so fragile? 

 

I don’t know how long I’d been walking. Hours? It was so late. I was standing in front of our building, fingering the leaves of the hedge out front. The coffee shop and the dry cleaner’s were dark. There were lights on in Kibum’s bedroom, but the rest of the apartment was dark. The building was dark. My bedroom was dark. My ribs felt hollow. I wished to G-d I had some tea in my hands, and the roughness of a burn on the tip of my tongue.

 

I pushed my code in, threw open the door, and ran to the elevators. Fumbled with the elevator key, but finally got it into the keypad, biting my lips and shoving the button again impatiently. The doors slid closed with a whine of annoyance, and the car began to descend.

 

The subbasement was absolutely still, even the sound of my breath dying inches away from my face against all the soundproofing. But some of the lights were on, the cream walls a soothing amber in low light. I dropped my bag and my coat on the couch in the lounge, tucking my shoes away. Leaving my phone. Leaving everything. 

 

Down the hall on the right. Third and fourth doors on the left. They were each mostly one huge frosted pane in a white frame. The fourth was lit from within, and the one before it had a dim light coming through, as well. I slid into the third room, silent as possible. 

 

There were no lights on inside the room itself: the light inside was coming through a huge, angled, double-paned window in the right wall, spilling over the sound board and across the carpet, leaving the couch on the left wall in shadow. I settled back in a dark corner of that couch, next to his jacket thrown over the leather cushions, wrapping my arms around myself.

 

Jonghyun sat on a stool on the other side of the window, headphones on, pencil in hand, the music stand in front of him scattered with papers. There was a small remote control panel on a stand beside him. The mic hung in front of him, and his eyes were closed as he sang.

 

I hadn’t heard this. It was slow, delicate, aching and beautiful. He was singing about stars, and about things he couldn’t touch. About space and air, and reaching through the dark, and fingertips falling short. About wanting. About hoping. About trying. 

 

He was tired. I could see it in the curve of his spine and the way one leg pushed back against the floor to keep him upright. And I could also see the slight frown, the set of his jaw, the tight fan of his lashes on his cheeks— he was not done. It wasn’t perfect yet, so he couldn’t stop. 

 

None of it showed in his voice. His heartbreakingly beautiful voice, his soul running up his spine and spilling out of his mouth like every cell of him was made for nothing else. Everything else in his life would pass like water over stones, but his voice was the reason for his existing, would be what he left behind him. Everything he did and experienced and thought and saw swirled into him and came out in that beautiful, aching voice. His love was there. And mine.

 

I lost time again. I watched and listened and I felt. I felt. I felt myself settling back into my body, back into my skin without the burn on my tongue or the scalding heat against my hands. 

 

The lights in the other room clicked off. The door opened. He was in the room, sighing, reaching for his jacket in the dark and finding my hand.

 

A quick breath, and a long, long pause. And then he sat beside me, folding himself against my body, into my arms, his face in my hair. I leaned back, stroking his hair, kissing the crown of his head softly. And there wasn’t any space left, no hollow cold, no not-existing. I was full, now, with my own heart, and with his.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, kids, this is where things get interesting. And a good bit more adult. If that makes you uncomfortable, you might not wish to go on. 
> 
> *
> 
> I don’t know how it happened. I can surmise why it happened, I suppose, and I don’t think there was anything intrinsically wrong with it. I’m not ashamed. But I couldn’t have known the chaos it was going to cause, and the pain, and the fear. None of us could. I just still can’t make myself completely regret it. And I don’t know what that says about me.

I don’t know how it happened. I can surmise _why_ it happened, I suppose, and I don’t think there was anything intrinsically wrong with it. I’m not ashamed. But I couldn’t have known the chaos it was going to cause, and the pain, and the fear. None of us could. I just still can’t make myself completely regret it. And I don’t know what that says about me.

 

I was thick into the most all-encompassing part of his work cycle: the part where I had to let him go almost entirely— even more than before. I hung out with my friends and with Jisoo and Eunji, and took the various kids out to the zoo and Lotte World and such. Lotte World was a blast, except that Mina saw the balloon ride on the ceiling and started screaming at the top of her lungs. We couldn’t figure out if she was terrified or demanding to be taken up there, but when people around us began to bleed freely from the ears, we beat a hasty retreat.

 

Hyoseong came on outings, too, more often than not. Not just because Jisoo or Eunji needed the help, I was fairly sure, but because both women liked her, and knew instinctively she craved mother figures in her life. It was nice, having girls’ days out. We invited Clara, of course, but she was harder to pin down. She wasn’t quite as bereft as the three of us, since she had Silver, but it just seemed like there was something holding her back. I hadn’t dared ask her why she’d been crying that night at dinner, and I’d tried to just let her know that we were there and we cared, but she seemed withdrawn, and brittle. We told ourselves it was overwork, and tried to keep an eye on her. But she was also prickly, and secretive, and we didn’t know quite what to do.

 

We all saw the shadow in the back of Taemin's eyes, too, sometimes, especially when he looked at Clara, and even more so when he looked at the triad together. He didn't look at her like a man with a crush on his sister in law. He looked at her as if the pain she held in was a tangible thing: an unwanted guest he longed to throw out the door, or a bug he wanted to crush. We all knew how he felt. We were all equally as helpless. Taemin just took it more to his idealistic heart.

 

But there was little time to deal with personal problems. The boys were working now with their choreographers and producers and stylists, and their PR department was busily laying out plans and deadlines. I texted Jjong more than spoke with him, and the notes on the coffeemaker and my tea mug spoke of long-distance relationships more than two people who shared a bed. I was living with a lover I rarely saw, but I adjusted, as always.

 

It was hard, still, and in a new and frustrating way. My period had never been normal, never been regular. That had been one of the main reasons I’d gone on the pill as a teen. I’d sometimes go months with nothing, then have seven or eight purely wretched days. And then nothing for months again. I was used to it. Except now, of course, it was wretched for another reason.

 

I really tried not to dwell on it. But about six weeks after I first went off birth control, I felt the cramps and the tiredness and the aches, and my heart sank. My doctor had plainly told me it could take over a year for me in particular to conceive, and I knew it was irrational to be so disappointed— not to mention we were having a fraction of the sex we usually did— but the combination of dashed hopes and hormones was potent. I cried on the bathroom floor, then ate half a pint of Häagen Dazs. I said nothing to Jonghyun— I needed him to keep his head in the game, and I didn’t really want to talk about it, anyway.

 

Besides which, he had both hands full, now. Jinki had called in a favour or two, made a couple of promises, and done something pretty much unprecedented for an almost-indie group: he’d gotten Skylight a performance slot on not one, but two weekly music shows for “Scales,” the slinky number about gender roles. It had bubbled under on the charts, and gotten some really good results for something so out of the K-pop norm. The younger artists, despite never aiming to be typical idols, were going to be exactly that for a short while, just to see how it felt. And if they liked it? Well they’d plan accordingly from there.

 

It wasn’t as if Jinki didn’t have the collateral, either. Night after late night, I made quick, pre-bedtime visits to the practise room, watching the five of them sand down their stage for their upcoming release until it was polished to a high gloss. It was bright and energetic and sometimes even frenetic, and I heard it in my head on an endless loop for days at a time. Jjong had written most of it, and biased as I was, I thought he’d outdone himself. Taemin had done the bulk of the choreo, and Kibum the styling. (Minho had been busy wrapping promotions for his movie, and Jinki had closed the run of his musical at last. Both projects had done very well, surprising no one.) It was going to be a powerhouse stage, and it had trophies written all over it. It had also been almost a year since their last comeback, and both fans and the industry were salivating. So Jinki had the currency with which to buy his agency’s protégées a little airtime. 

 

And Kibum kept hinting about love calls he was getting for the boys. Nothing definite yet, it seemed, but he kept having that smug look on his face. I either wanted to kiss him or hug him, but that was merely business as usual, really.

 

The morning of their Music Bank appearance, their first comeback stage, I took a short day at work. I kissed him at the door as he left, promising to meet him at the studio later. He was confident and excited, and nervous in a happy way, and he stroked my hair and kissed my forehead, breathing in deep. I kissed the side of his jaw and gave his hair a tug. “Knock ‘em dead, baby.”

 

They would be there all day, prerecording one song, and filming another live. I would go into the store for a few hours, try to get some things done, then meet with Eunji and Jisoo and head over. I was probably more nervous than he was, but I didn’t have his years of experience to back me up. 

 

I was pretty useless at work, though I managed to at least look busy for a while. My phone rang, and I was out the door without quite touching the floor. Eunji drove, Jisoo navigated, and I sat in the back and tapped my nails against my teeth surreptitiously until Eunji raised an eyebrow at me in the rear-view mirror. We dropped our purses in the dressing room, chatting with the stylists and staff a moment. King was there, of course, and looking excited. The four of us went out to the stage, and oh, it was magic.

 

There was a broader age range in their fans now. From girls who had discovered them more recently to women who had been devoted fans for years. And a fairly sizable share of the fans were male, now, too. And there was so much love in the room from everyone it just made my heart feel full. 

 

They had gone through the prerelease stage once already, and were chatting and flirting from the stage as their makeup was touched up and lights were adjusted. Their fans were laughing, and the boys were being playful. I couldn’t help grinning, excitement bubbling up inside me. I had been a little apprehensive the night of Skylight’s show, but now, I just knew how wonderful everything was going to be. 

 

And I wasn’t wrong. Seeing how they moved, and how they interacted, and how they just shone together took my breath away. I could never get tired of it. I loved them all as artists, but also as individuals. Seeing them all do what they’d been born to do— singing, dancing, glowing-- was utterly beautiful. The way they breathed music and charm and sex and desire and beauty and fun. The promises they made, and kept, and made again. So much joy. 

 

So much love.

 

 

 

 

A week later, we gathered in the dressing room again. We had all seen the numbers. We had all counted and recounted. The last group had finished, and all the performers were gathered on the stage for the winners announcement. Jisoo was outwardly serene, Eunji was deliberately keeping herself in a chair, King was biting his nails. Silver was with us; Clara was conspicuous by her absence. This was old hat to all of us, this time, and we weren’t any of us kids any more, but it was still exciting. For all their love and support for the artists they’d signed, they themselves were still competitive and ambitious to their core, and they wanted the win. It had been almost a year since their last trophy: they were hungry.

 

There were three groups up for the win that night, and in the split screen above my head, I kept my eyes only on Jjong. He had his eyes on the monitors in front of him with the numbers rolling up. I forgot to breathe.

 

It wasn’t even close. 

 

We were louder than they were onstage, shrieking as the stage-side confetti cannon went off, and their song started for an encore. Jinki was only narrowly avoiding his thousand-yard-shock-stare as he took the mic and said his thank-yous. Kibum and Minho added their own words, and Jjong was the one to thank everyone’s families. Taemin just beamed, and I was so thankful to see his eyes so clear.

 

There was further chaos when they finished their encore stage and came back with their trophy— hugs and kisses and wild enthusiasm. And it was that moment that Kibum slung his arm around Jjong’s neck and announced that, as the cherry on top, he had a contract ready to be signed for Skylight’s first endorsement deal: a skateboard company wanted them to design their own line of gear. Jjong threw his arms around Kibum and kissed him, jumping up and down in glee.

 

After that was kind of a blur. There was a private club, and a fair bit of soju, and a lot of very happy people. I was cuddled into Jjong’s side, and his hands were constantly on me, petting and stroking, sharing his mood. I was very much hoping to be able to get him home at some point for more of that in private. 

 

But then Kibum suggested that we all go back to his place, because he had some special champagne in for the endorsement deal, and now they had twice as many reasons to drink it. King begged off, so it was just the ten of us piling through the doorway into the glittering whiteness of Kibum’s immaculate, plush living room.

 

Where Clara was waiting.

 

I think we all had a moment of wondering which way the die was going to fall. The look on her face was some complex flittering of guilt to hope to uncertainty. “I— I’m sorry I wasn’t there,” she said. “I only got back a couple of hours ago….”

 

Silver moved close to her immediately, sliding a hand up her spine and touching his forehead to her temple. Kibum followed, kissing her with a wry smile. “You’re just going to have to help with the champagne, then, hm?”

 

Her body relaxed, and she kissed him back. “Deal.”

 

Silver put on music while Clara gathered up sufficient champagne flutes. Unsurprisingly, there were hors d’oeuvres on hand, because Kibum. I was delighted, because by this time, man, I was hungry. And Clara was laughing, which was good to hear. And Jjong was giggly and tingling and more bubbly than the champagne, and maybe it was the alcohol in my veins, but just looking at him felt intoxicating. 

 

I didn’t know what time it was. I had fizz and music running through my body and I didn’t care. I was sprawled back across Jonghyun’s body on the floor, as he leaned against the front of the white couch, on the impossibly fluffy white rug. His shirt had a few buttons astray, and I may have been nibbling on him until he giggled and squirmed. His pants were getting a little tight, I could tell. My skirt had ridden up, and his hand was curled possessively around my thigh. I may have giggled, too.

 

Jisoo and Jinki were on the couch behind us. Minho and Eunji had cast themselves over a pile of cushions on the floor. Kibum and Silver and Clara were on the far side of the sofa, and Clara was mercilessly teasing Taemin, who sat on the floor at their feet, about something, which, though he was blushing, he didn’t seem to mind. For the moment, she was happy, everyone was happy, and that soothed his overworried heart. She trailed a finger down the open neck of his shirt while looking him dead in the eye, and he whined, deliberately crossing his long legs in front of him on the rug. We all laughed at his full-body shiver. 

 

“Taemin,” I snorted, “You are an absolute sex bomb onstage, but off? You are the most adorable ball of fluff that ever lived.”

 

There was another round of laughter and a chorus of “oooooooo!”s. Taemin, it seemed, took that as a challenge. “Oh, I’m only sexy onstage, noona? Can’t be hot anywhere else? Is that what you’re saying?”

 

I grinned at him wickedly. “I didn’t _say_ that, but if you wanna _take it_ that way, baby….”

 

He looked back at Clara, who raised her eyebrows expectantly, a slow smile on her face. 

 

He trailed his own finger down the front of her shirt, mirroring her from a moment before, delicately pausing to push his finger into his own mouth, his cheeks hollowing out for a brief moment as he sucked on it before returning it to her skin and slowly, slowly sliding it, glistening wet, between her breasts. We could all see her breath catch. He pulled out just a little, then pushed back in again, slow, rhythmic, until her breathing grew quick and her eyes narrowed. And then he skimmed back up the column of her throat to her chin, tipping her head back, and leaning up to brush his lips over hers once, twice, his tongue flicking out gently, then his teeth softly nibbling at her lower lip until she sighed, her eyes sliding closed, and her head tilting forward to press her mouth fully against his. 

 

There were scattered chuckles around the room, and some distinctly approving noises, and there was no longer any maybe about Jjong’s jeans being a little tight. My eyes felt like they took up half my face, which felt like it was on fire. And the rest of my body was no cooler. If I didn’t get a hold of myself, I was going to take care of that little problem in his white jeans right then and there, and I didn’t give a damn who saw what. I didn’t dare look at him as I got up, patting his leg before I made off for the powder room across from the kitchen. I stayed in there for a while, trying to clean myself and my spinning head up a bit. We were all a physically affectionate bunch, and there had always been cuddles and kisses and even night-long puppy piles, and I’m not saying I hadn’t seen some searing kisses between surprising combinations of people in our little pack, but  just because Taemin— _Taemin!_ — was getting mouthy, I was not going to kick off an eleven-person orgy on Kibum’s living room floor. No matter how that thought made a groan rise up all the way from the base of my spine.

 

As it turned out, I was almost too late to start it, anyway.

 

I came out of the powder room and stopped dead in the doorway, the breath knocked out of me. Not only had Taemin not finished with Clara, he now had her down on her back on the floor, with his knees on either side of her thighs, and his hands fisted in her hair, pinning her to the carpet. He was kissing her, deep and filthy, and his hips dipped down teasingly to rub enticingly across hers while her nails pressed sharp creases in the back of his shirt. Silver’s face, watching them, was hungry. Kibum’s was unholy. Every pair of eyes in the room was fixed on them with predatory attention. I felt like there was no more blood in my body, just the champagne, and I was breathless and dizzy.

 

Then my own eyes turned to Jonghyun, and I whimpered.

 

He was still reclined where I’d left him, but the giggling silliness of a few minutes ago was gone gone gone. His shirt was unbuttoned now all the way down (had I done that?), and his torso was glistening with a thin sheen of sweat. His jeans, slung low on his hips, now looked nearly painful with how hard he was, and all I wanted to do was drop to my knees, crawl over to him, and take care of him just how I knew he liked. But then, oh, then I met his eyes, and I couldn’t breathe. He wasn’t looking at Clara and Taemin. He was looking at me. Only at me.

 

I knew that look. Yes, it said, get on your knees. Do exactly as I say, it said, because I know exactly what you want. And I know exactly how to give it to you. I felt myself crashing into subspace. I curled my nails into my palms to try to hold on to myself. 

 

Then there was a finger in my hair, twisted around one long curl, and almost dazedly, I turned my head to see Minho, who had come out of the kitchen beside me. He, too, looked almost dazed, staring at my hair wrapped around his finger, staring down at me with a look I was scared to unpack. I looked back at Jonghyun, and saw a slow, dark burn in his eyes. He studied me for a long moment, and then in an equally dark voice, said to Minho, “She likes it when you pull. Don’t you, jagi?”

 

I heard a long moan pulled out of Clara’s throat, I saw Taemin lower his body down again, grinding on her, fluid and filthy, as Silver slid down to the floor beside them, Key’s hand pushing on the back of his neck. I felt the air in the room, thick and hot against my skin, the weight of Jonghyun’s gaze.

 

I knew what I was doing. I knew. 

 

“Yes,” I breathed. “Yes, I do.”


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No spoilers this time. No teasers. You'll just have to see for yourself.

I know I heard, as rationality seeped out of me, a woman’s voice. I was able to comprehend it was Eunji. I knew she was saying, “Do it.” I knew it was important, and that I couldn’t do anything without the words. I just wasn’t sure…what…oh, G-d!

 

He was much, much taller than Jjong. I didn’t understand, at first, what to do about that. He leaned down, the haze burning off his eyes as his hand slid up the back of my neck to curl around the base of my skull. I stared up at him, wide-eyed, feeling my body go pliant, swaying slightly towards him.

 

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered, his breathing turning harsh as his fingers curled tighter in my hair, tipping my head back. My eyes slipped closed as his mouth came down on mine, and I heard a whine without realising it’d come from me.

 

His mouth was strange and rich, hesitant at first, tasting me, testing me. I was up on my toes, trying to reach for this so-different kiss, but he seemed so far away, his shoulders hunching awkwardly as I found them under my hands. From somewhere behind him, I heard a gasp and a cry, and the sounds hit my body like hot water, like dye spreading through my veins. The air was so thick I wondered vaguely how I was breathing, but I didn’t care. All I wanted to concentrate on now was the mouth on mine, the tongue dipping in and swirling against my own, the feel of strange hands on my spine, on my arms, on…on skin. Skin? Bare skin. Yes. I had my skirt on, but nothing else— no, no, the skirt was sliding down my thighs, now, and I sighed deeply, as I felt myself urged to step out of it. Yes, yes, this: this, I want this. Am I what you want? Yes?

 

I opened my eyes— it wasn’t the right face, but it wasn’t wrong. Nothing felt wrong. It was a beautiful face, and someone I trusted, and when he came close again, I melted against him, stroking and petting and then— then grabbing, as my feet left the floor and _oh fuck yes please yes this I want this this!_

 

I only knew the voice begging and moaning was mine because it vibrated in my throat, and against his lips. Arms around broad shoulders, legs around a narrow waist, back against a cold wall. _Please please please yes now please anything you want please yes!_

 

He groaned into my mouth as he filled me and I sobbed, writhing, trapped between his body and the wall. There was the sound of body hitting body, rhythmic and hard and intoxicating, and I didn’t understand, it didn’t feel like— no, that wasn’t my voice, begging and cajoling. That wasn’t me. I half-opened my eyes, looking past the curve of a muscled arm and shoulder to see Clara, body arched so far back her hair brushed against Silver’s thighs as she rode him, hard. Her pale skin was even paler where his fingers crushed into her curves, and his body twitched as he started to gasp.

 

There were fingers hard on my chin. “No. You will only look at me. Just me. Do you understand?” 

 

I whined at the tone, wanting to be good. “Yes, I promise, just— please—“

 

His pupils were blown wide, his pulse flickering along the side of this throat. I had never heard that voice out of him before, and he looked somehow as if he hadn’t, either. But he didn’t stop, pinning my head to the wall by my hair. “ _Please what?_ ”

 

“P-please,” I begged, “please fuck me?”

 

He groaned again, deeper and more desperate, his fist in my hair pulling my head to a harsh angle, baring my throat as I keened at his sudden, hard thrust into my body— no warning, no time to breathe. He pulled back, just a flicker of hesitation, and I whined as he thrust in again, and then again, and then the hard, fast rhythm that blanked out my brain, sweeping out everything but sensation: longer than I was used to, but not as thick, still overwhelming, still filling me until I moaned and cried, skin under my nails, the wall cold and rough on my back as I scraped against it, thighs aching as I clung to his body.

 

I could hear another voice, and it was hard to know if it was me or not, echoing off the inside of my head, mirroring my own incoherent sounds, magnifying and overlapping. But the heat inside my skin made it impossible to know what was real and what wasn’t, and I gave up trying to know what was happening, losing myself in the feeling of this strong, strange, tall body trying to fuck me through the wall at my back. On and on and on and _oh G-d don’t stop please fucking G-d don’t stop more more harder more yes I’ll be good I’ll be good—!_

 

Teeth, teeth— he bit into my throat and I whined, clawing, gasping, and it echoed through the room and there was a gasp and almost a scream and a shout, a man’s voice, loud and uncontrolled and harsh— I felt it rip through both of us and I wailed and suddenly I was sobbing, my knees up around his ribs now as his body drove in harder, harder, losing the pattern and biting down and I was frantic as I felt him come, hard, savage, bruising and so, so good.

 

He let go of my hair, my body shaking uncontrollably as my head dropped down to his shoulder. I could hear, still, the sound of skin on skin, of breath, of wanting, but I didn’t know where or from whom it was coming. It might even have been me.

 

“ _Bring her here_.”

 

I twisted at the command in the low voice, intense and rough now. I whimpered again as he slipped wetly out of me, leaving me so achingly empty, and he swung my legs up to carry me across the room, my face still buried against his shoulder. I gasped a little as I felt myself falling, but he was just gently laying me down on Jjong’s body, between his legs, in his arms. Jjong. Mine. Jjong. I drew in a deep, shuddering breath, letting it out slowly as he kneaded the back of my neck while I buried my face against him.

 

“Did you like that, baby? Being on display like that? Everyone seeing what a good girl you are, taking it like that?”

 

I could only nod, curling in tighter against him as one of his hands slid down my back to my hips, pulling me in tight, tight, so that I felt how hard he was, still. I whined, sliding my palm down his bare, slick chest, wanting to make him feel good, wanting to _be_ good—

 

But he caught my wrist. “You want more, baby? You want to show everyone what a good little slut you can be?”

 

“Yes, yes, yes,” I chanted— _anything for you, anything you want, anything_ —

 

“Mmm,” he chuckled. “No. Not me. Not yet. You have to wait, good girl. And then you’ll get yours. But first.”

 

I looked up, finally, dazed and hazy, and followed where his eyes led.

 

I was too far gone by now to feel anything as complicated as surprise. I didn’t understand what I was seeing, but it didn’t register enough for me to care. Jinki was sitting on the couch, staring at me with wide, blank eyes, his mouth softly open in shock. Beside him, Jisoo sat, pushed back against the cushions, Kibum curled around behind her, his chin on her shoulder, his mouth whispering in her ear. His shirt was gone, his expression sly. Her hair was down, her mouth reddened, her eyes wide. Her blouse was untucked, and Kibum’s fingertips rested lightly on her stomach. He stroked her skin gently, and asked her a question. She bit her lip, considering, and then, slowly, she nodded. Then again, quicker.

 

A pleased rumble came from Jonghyun’s body beneath me. His voice in my ear was a low, filthy growl.

 

“I know what you dream about sometimes, jagi. I know what you want. You want every man in the room. You want every man in the room to fuck you, don’t you, baby? Split you wide open. Feel every cock here deep up inside you? Mm? Is that what you want…Party Favour?”

 

I cried out softly, squirming against him in shame and lust both. He knew. He remembered. I had told him so long ago, so long, but he never forgot, never, and now—

 

“I think Jinki needs some encouragement, jagi. Do you want him? Do you want to let him fuck you, too?”

 

Breathing so fast, couldn’t get enough air. I reached out my arms, reached out to him to pull him in, saw his eyes come closer and closer til my fingers slid around his shoulders, and those huge dark eyes were all, all I could see and he came closer into and against me and his mouth was slow and deep and I was pushing fabric out of my way and someone else was pulling it from his body and then skin, oh, yes, yes, skin and—

 

I moaned, arching back against Jjong as Jinki filled me, taking away that ache, starting a new ache, and it was skin on skin and the long, slow slide of limbs and muscles and need, my body slowly twisting and folding and re-forming around his, and his inside mine, that haze rising again, deep and rich and wet and drowning-good. 

 

I was whispering in his ear but I didn’t know what I was saying— it didn’t matter, just that he was there, and he felt so good, and we all loved him and everything was so incredible and everything was so good, and Jjong was stroking somewhere on my body and I heard his voice in my skull telling me how beautiful I was and how good I looked getting fucked like this and oh, G-d, so perfect, so right, so good, so everything.

 

A thread of voice in my head, and it filled out into Jjong’s voice, coaxing, “Let go, old man, just let go— it’s okay.”

 

His rhythm stuttered, thrown off, and I heard him pant, “B-but….”

 

I looked up, met his eyes, my own gaze wide and needy.

 

“Yes,” Jjong was murmuring in that rough, deep voice, “Yes, like this. But she likes it harder, too.” He paused. “Maybe…so would you.”

 

He was staring down at me, that thousand-yard-stare again. I felt his uncertainty, his hesitation, but I felt something else. Something I was too far down to name. I rolled my body against his, scraped my teeth up the side of his throat, whispered in his ear. 

 

“Please?”

 

He groaned, his eyes sinking closed again, his head tilting back, and his hips starting to slide again, harder, like a train picking up steam, harder, faster. A sound left my mouth, like victory, like discovery, and I wrapped myself around him, reveling in it, nails on his back til he gasped, urging him on, yes yes yes, and his hands in my hair fuck yes pulling fuck yes!

 

Hands all over my body, Jjong beneath me, his breathing growing ragged as I was thrust back and forth over his body over and over and over, grinding against him til his voice Jinki’s voice my voice melded like our bodies did, all our limbs fluid and boundary-less, and I knew, I knew it wasn’t enough but fuck it was so good, so good fuck please so good—

 

Jjong’s voice urging us both on, coherence gone from Jinki’s eyes as he grabbed behind my knee and pulled up, pushing my leg almost to his shoulder and the change in angle had me gasping and whining and I clung to him, leaning up to kiss him, hold him, take joy in him, feel the moment when his whole body began to shudder and _harder harder slam into me so hard y-ye—ahh, fuck yes, baby yes oh yes, yes—_

 

His orgasm hit him like it was breaking his body apart, disjointing him, pulling his spine back like a bow, pushing him so deep inside me it hurt, but so good, so good—

 

“So good, so good,” I whispered, panting, into his ear as he slumped down on my body and I stroked his damp back and cradled him as he trembled.

 

There was a soft laugh from Jonghyun; Jinki raised his head in dazed confusion. 

 

“I thought so,” said Jjong, and kissed him softly.

 

My eyes slipped closed, Jjong petting me and praising me, holding a bottle of water to my mouth, telling me what a good girl I was as I drifted. Jinki was gone, back to Jisoo on the couch (Kibum sitting beside her, but no longer touching her), who folded him into her arms, a wondering smile on her face as she ran her fingers through his hair. I closed my eyes. _Just a minute. Just a minute’s rest. Mm. Just a minute._

 

And then another voice. 

 

Kibum. 

 

A tone I had never heard before: dark, wheedling. Dangerous.

 

“ _Taemiiinnie_ ,” he said.

 

My eyes snapped open in time to see the younger man’s face— his whole body— tense suddenly, electrified. He was kneeling on the other side of the room. Behind him, Silver was gone, but Clara was curled around a floor cushion, her hair flowing across her bare skin, her eyes half-closed, her body lax. Eunji sat on the sofa behind her, wrapped around a naked Minho— both of them watching the room intently.

 

Taemin’s eyes closed, and he swallowed, his fingers curling into fists on his thighs. His shirt was gone, and there were livid scratches across his abs, but he still had his jeans on, and they looked painfully tight. Tension. So much tension. All of him so wound up.

 

“ _Taeminnie_.”

 

He was fighting with himself, his jaw set.

 

“T _aeminnie, come here_.”

 

His breathing jerky and ragged, he froze for a long, long moment. And then his head sank to his chest. And slowly, slowly, he crawled across the white carpet to kneel at Kibum’s feet.

 

No one moved. No one breathed.

 

Lazily, thoughtfully, Kibum reached over to the end table beside him, picking up a crystal flute of champagne. He took a sip, contemplating the young man before him, whose shoulders were stiff with tension. Kibum was a master at stagecraft: he knew he was directing us all, but his eyes never moved from Taemin’s bowed head.

 

“Ah, Taeminnie. Did you think I wasn’t going to see?” His voice was soft, full of concern, but there was one single metal thread woven through it. I almost felt a whine climb up my own throat, but Jonghyun petted me soothingly, keeping me quiet.

 

“There’s been so much, hasn’t there, Taeminnie? You haven’t been okay in weeks, I know. You should have come to me, you know. Why didn’t you come to me?”

 

The maknae let out a fractured breath, but said nothing, his knuckles growing white against his dark jeans.

 

“And now it’s all so much worse, isn’t it? You’ve left it too long, Taeminnie. You’ve left it too long.”

 

I couldn’t see his face, but I could see the blush spreading down his neck, down his chest, could feel his tension rising until I was afraid he would break, until I was afraid I would break. I curled tighter into Jonghyun, who soothed me quietly.

 

Kibum slid forward to the edge of the couch, bracketing Taemin between his legs, rolling the stem of the flute between his fingers.

 

“And now we have so much work to do, don’t we? Don’t we, Taeminnie?”

 

I stared, wide-eyed, unable to move, watching Taemin’s shoulders begin to tremble as Kibum knocked back the last of the champagne, then dipped his finger in the wetness clinging to the inside of the crystal. And with one long, fine, wet finger, flicked Taemin’s nipple— hard.

 

My gasp was lost in the keening cry that broke from Taemin as his head snapped back, eyes wild. Instantly, Kibum’s hand was in his hair, pulling his head back hard as the older man’s mouth descended on his, crushing him until Taemin was forced to open up to Kibum— and swallow down the flood of champagne from Ki’s mouth.

 

Kibum pulled back, looking very satisfied as he surveyed a panting, red-faced Taemin, who was staring at him with wide, rebellious eyes.

 

“Now,” Kibum went on, reaching out a finger to wipe up stray drops of champagne from Taemin’s cheek, and painting the wetness across Taemin’s lips, “Do as I say, Taeminnie. And take these off.”

 

He reached down so very casually, brushing his hand across the front of Taemin’s jeans, where his cock was straining at the fabric. Taemin’s entire body jerked, and his hands went so white I expected to see blood-red crescents in his palms. But no: he took in a deep breath, and I felt my heart turn over, long seconds passing as he tried to wrest back some control. Jjong was petting my hair again to calm me when Taemin finally took a deep breath and rose gracefully to his feet to do as he was told. 

 

His fingers were efficient, unbuttoning the stiff denim of his expensive jeans, sliding them and his briefs down, tossing them aside. His cock was so hard, a deep coral red, already glistening.

 

I was lightheaded. I didn’t know when the last time I’d taken a full breath might have been. I was trying to tamp down the waves of heat rolling through my body, but nothing was helping. Jjong’s hand grew firmer on my hip in warning— I bit my lip and tried to hold still, but it was hard to think, now, once more. All I felt was need, want, need. 

 

Taemin sank to his knees again, but Kibum’s smile was a slow burn. “No. Not facing me.” Kibum’s eyes snapped up, and locked onto mine.

 

“Face her.”

 

My heart was pounding so hard I knew Jjong was able to feel it. I stared at Taemin, now, into his huge, angry eyes, my breathing so fast the edges of my vision began to flutter. 

 

“Shhh, jagiya,” Jjong soothed, stroking my hair, “Shhhh. Soon.”

 

Kibum leaned over again, opening a drawer in the side table, and pulling out things I couldn’t see. And then he knelt behind Taemin, speaking into his ear as he had with Jisoo— but with none of the gentleness he’d shown her as he pulled Taemin’s hands behind his back with one hand and pushed them firmly into the small of the kneeling man’s spine.

 

“I have a special plan for you, Taeminnie. We’re going to play a special game, tonight. I think you’re going to like it. Of course—“

 

Taemin gasped and cried out— his eyes rolling back, his body arching.

 

“—Not that I’m giving you much of a choice,” Kibum finished conversationally.

 

I heard an approving chuckle from where Clara had been, and I whimpered, trying to back into Jjong, duck my head, not knowing where to look. But Jjong would have none of it: his own fingers curling into my hair and keeping my head up, making me watch as Taemin fought not to moan, the outside edges of his eyes glittering as his head fell back, bottom lip tight between his teeth. He struggled to breathe, broken gasps jerking his entire body as Kibum worked, the older man’s gaze locked onto the younger’s taut face.

 

I could hear the sound of my own panting, my own heartbeat, and the wet sounds of Kibum’s fingers. My body was vibrating so much I couldn’t feel anything, couldn’t concentrate on anything else. I stared at Taemin’s face, his mouth now open soundlessly as his chest heaved, his cock curved up, dripping by now. I heard the snap of plastic, and a moment later, a long, broken wail from Taemin.

 

“That’s it, Taeminnie, that’s it, shhhh, yes, that’s it. Such a good boy, yes. You’re doing so well, baby. One more? Yes, yes…good boy, good boy.”

 

Taemin’s body jerked again, and he gasped, almost sobbing, head lolling back on Kibum’s shoulder as his own shoulders heaved. Kibum’s other hand stroked down his chest, down his abdomen, carefully avoiding even brushing against his cock. Kibum’s smile was terrifying,

 

“Now,” he murmured. “Now. Keep your hands behind your back, Taeminnie. And I want you to kneel over there.”

 

And Kibum’s eyes met mine.

 

I couldn’t stop the cry that came up out of my throat— needy and begging and wanting. Jjong’s hands pushed me onto my back again, settling me against his chest, stroking my skin, sliding down to part my thighs as Taemin, face blank and tear-stained, knelt obediently between them.

 

Kibum observed with great satisfaction. Then he rose, and, standing over me, began to unbuckle his belt. 

 

I knew I was crying, tears running back into my hairline. I knew there were words in my mouth, but I didn’t know what I was saying, begging, pleading. Kibum, the gentle, deadly look on his face, knelt behind Taemin. There was a crackle of foil, and a pause— and then Kibum’s hands, and Jjong’s hands, and for a moment I blanked out, all systems overloaded, as one hard thrust sheathed Taemin to the hilt inside of me, and another: Key, inside of Taemin.

 

I know I cried out, I don't know whose name. Jjong’s hand reached down again, pulling my knees up as high and as wide as they could go, trapping my arms under his. I was helpless, pinned between the three of them as Kibum set a relentless pace, holding Taemin’s arms painfully tight behind his back and fucking him hard into me. I couldn’t move, I couldn’t think, could only take it all, sobbing, _G-d yes G-d yes I’ll be good I promise please Jjong please!_

 

Taemin’s head was hanging, his breath coming in moans, until Kibum wrenched it back by his hair.

 

“Look, Taeminnie, look! Isn’t she pretty when you fuck her? Doesn’t it feel good? Such a good boy. Both of you such pretty fucktoys, doing so well— don’t you think, Jjong?”

 

Jonghyun’s laugh in my ear was breathless and savage. “I’d say she’s earning a reward. I’d say they both are.”

 

“Mm. You hear that, Taeminnie? You want me to let you come inside her? You want me to give you permission to come?”

 

“Please, please, please,” Taemin begged, “G-d, please, I won’t— I won’t be bad again I won’t— I—fuck, please!”

 

His voice was rough, high, wild, the words punctuated by moans and cries as Kibum pounded him ruthlessly. I writhed, every bit as desperate, begging, begging, until Jjong’s fingers suddenly slid up my throat to work their way into my mouth, silencing me. I wanted to suck on them, I wanted to show him I could be so good, but I couldn’t remember how, I couldn’t remember anything.

 

“Such a loud little whore, aren’t you? If I’d known you’d like this so much, I would have arranged this long ago. Maybe we’ll do it again, yes, jagi? Maybe switch it up a little, get you fucked from both sides? You want to be in the middle next time? I bet you’d take that so well. I can’t wait to see that.”

 

I was crying, my tongue on his fingers and my body writhing, and I heard Kibum laugh. “G-d, they’re both so wrecked! You’ve been so good, fucked her so hard, taken my cock so well. Come for me, Taeminnie. Can you? Come for me.”

 

And Taemin’s body all but convulsed, a shout ripped out of him as his whole being arched up, quivering, jerking, and then, with a long moan, he collapsed, Kibum catching him as he slid, boneless, to the side. 

 

I whined, writhing again against Jjong, my body still in knots. 

 

“She’s fucking insatiable, isn’t she?” Kibum said, his grin still sharp and deadly. “Which is good, of course.” He pulled off the condom, and it was my turn to convulse as he plunged his cock into me, keeping that relentless pace, chasing his own climax.

 

I was blind by now; nothing made sense, nothing was real, nothing existed but the bodies above and below and inside me. Not even I existed, except as a vessel for sensation and need. And begging: broken begging and whining and promises and gasps and moans. He sped up, mouth crashing into mine, then into Jonghyun’s, and then then then— 

 

His head hit my shoulder, his hips bucking wildly, wildly, slamming deeper, hurting, so good, and— and— slowing, slowing, slow, until he collapsed, huffing out one small laugh before drawing back to look down at me, his eyes deep and dark and sated. “That was worth waiting for, noona.”

 

But my wait— mine wasn’t over, and finally, finally, I was so close— _pleasenowbeensogoodpleaseplease—_

 

And Jjong’s weight pressed me into the rug, and his eyes went straight through me, and— I burst out sobbing at the familiar feeling of his body in mine, and he never took his eyes from mine, and he was so, so gentle, whispering my name and how much he loved me and it didn’t matter, nothing mattered, just him and me and no one else was in the room and he rose up on his knees, pulling my legs around his hips, and his fingers found just that spot as he gently, gently rocked in and out and in and the world pulsed in time with two hearts and closer closer closer and I

 

_SCREAMED_

 

and everything 

 

was finally 

 

still.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You made cookies?” she giggled.
> 
> “Er…well…I sort of fucked your husband, so….” Now I was the one furiously blushing. There was no point in playing coy, here.

Made of cloud.

 

Made of air. 

 

Soft, warm, protected.

 

There was pain and the ghosts of sensation inside my body, but I was warm and there was a heartbeat under my ear and I was completely limp and incapable of thought or memory. My eyes stayed closed, firmly closed. I knew I was moving, rising, being held, the rhythm of walking, but everything else was hazy. There were voices, soft murmurs, a rumble against my cheek, and then I was cold.

 

I made some small noise of displeasure, turning my face away from light, and soothing noises came back to me, calming me. There were other familiar noises, and a voice in the back of my skull told me it was the elevator, but that was silly, of course. What would I be doing on the elevator? No, no. I melted closer to the warmth against me, around me, sighing, drifting away again. 

 

And a few minutes later, as if in proof, I found myself in my own bathroom. And Jjong was with me. It was hard to…to anything. Nothing seemed to work right. Not my hands or my knees or anything. He helped. And then water. I heard water. Lots of it. But there was a glass at my lips, and a gentle order, and I obediently opened my mouth and swallowed something, then drank. Water…I’m made out of water, I’m made out of smoke, I’m not real…I’m not here….

 

But warm, so warm, so everywhere warm and a body against me and warm all around me and the sound of water and flashes of what…of what had…of what I had….

 

My body rippled with one long, pitiful wail, and suddenly everything was overwhelming and too much and I opened my mouth and sobs came pouring out and I clung and clung and wailed and cried and his arms were around me, petting and stroking, letting me cry against him, letting the release flood me, holding me safe and close and tight, whispering my name, telling me over and over how good I had been, how amazing, how wonderful I was, how beautiful, how strong, how loved. Years and years I cried, til the water went cold, warmed, and went cold again, heartbroken like a child, on and on, and on…and…and then…and yawned, and felt him chuckle, kissing my hair, stroking me, kissing my face, rocking me. Loving me.

 

I sank into the exhaustion, sank into his body, pressed my face into the side of his neck, sighed as he rubbed soap against my skin, drifting away from thought and direction. He washed me, every inch, every inch, cooing in sympathy when some parts made me hiss. Something soft in his hand stroking over my skin, soft soft like fur, like being washed with a kitten. I giggled, and felt him laugh just a bit in return, kissing my head again. He didn’t ask questions; I couldn’t have answered, anyway. 

 

I couldn't move, either— too much effort. But his hands in my hair, and the smell of shampoo— so nice, so nice. I was drifting, floating, watery and placid. Just skin and water. And love.

 

Time bent and folded and stretched, if it existed at all. I could have sworn I felt a toothbrush, and there was mint on my tongue, but now I lay against him and felt him working lotion into my skin, gently, thoroughly, smoothly, humming a bit, soothing me. Wrapping me up warm and close, and more carrying, and— ahhhhh….

 

My whole body sighed. Bed. My bed. Our bed. Our bed, with him, with love. No empty spaces, no loss, no lost and searching. No walking. No tea. No burn on my tongue. Mine. Mine. 

 

Home.

 

 

 

 

At some point, I woke from dreams I couldn’t remember, but that rocked too large in my skull: oceans and mountains and vast monoliths and endless plains, yet now, I was warm, I was— something, unfamiliar, though it shouldn’t have been, but….

 

I startled. It was dark, blackout drapes drawn tight, but still— he was still with me, still holding me, but that couldn’t be right, it couldn’t— 

 

A hand in my hair, his deep voice.

 

“Shhh, it’s okay. You don’t have work today. It’s all taken care of. You stay here today. Shhh, jagi.”

 

I made a noise, trying for coherence and missing.

 

“No,” he whispered softy, almost chanting— a litany of calm. “No. I wouldn’t leave you. Not after that. I wouldn’t ever leave you to wake up alone after that, my beautiful, strong girl. You need to wake up in my arms. My beautiful, wonderful girl. I promised: I’m here when you need me. I promised. Go back to sleep, lovely woman, shhhh, love. Shhhh….”

 

I felt a sigh, long and deep, from my whole being, and settled in again against his skin. Safe, now. Loved. 

 

Perfect.

 

 

 

 

He brought me tea— warm, but not burning. He brought me food. He combed my hair and braided it up for me, then curled against me again to talk— our post-scene debriefing. What had I liked, what hadn’t I liked, what did we want to do again, what did we want to do next. What I had thought about it all. Of all things, I had to admit I’d been surprised at the intensity of the interaction between Kibum and Taemin, even though it had obviously turned me on enormously. He nodded at that.

 

“That’s always gone on. We don’t talk about it, but we all know when Taemin needs it, and when he’s had it.”

 

“Have you? Like that?”

 

“With Kibum? Oh, once or twice,” he smiled.

 

“Did you like it?” 

 

He settled back a bit, musing at the ceiling, playing with the end of my braid. “I never needed to be….” He trailed off, then started again. “Taemin’s kind of like a clock. Sometimes, to work his best, he needs to be taken completely apart and washed clean, then put back together again so he can run his best.”

 

“Cleaned of what?”

 

He shrugged eloquently under my ear. “He’s been in this business since he was a child. Never lived that normal life. The stakes for him have always been high: never fail, never reveal weaknesses, never show anything but perfect confidence. Never, ever let go. It's hard for anyone, but he was so young. One day— and this was years ago, when we were all young and scared, we’d debuted but that doesn’t make you less scared— he’d been tense and…brittle, you could say, for days. Weeks. There was a look in his eyes like he was so afraid of losing himself. Us. And Kibum kept pushing him. Push, push, push. Jinki pulled him aside and talked to him and we thought that would be it, but they both came back and Kibum _kept_ pushing and then all of a sudden, Taemin just snapped. Started screaming back at Kibum. Crying so hard he threw up. Kibum cleaned it up, cleaned him up, took him back to his room— Taemin’s room— and tucked him in to bed and lay there with him, stroking his hair and whispering to him and kissing him and talking to him. Talked to him until Taeminnie fell asleep, and stayed asleep. Cos he hadn’t been sleeping, either. And after that, he was just…better. More himself. More grounded, centered. They just fell into it. Not often or anything. But every few months. Few times a year….” He trailed off again. “I think it turned into scening pretty quickly. We’d all played around with each other— you knew that— but this wasn’t simply about sex, of course.” He snorted. “You and I know. And Taemin was the same. Kibum just figured that out before the rest of us.”

 

I rubbed a thumb over the curve of his abdominals, idly counting his breaths for a few moments.

 

“It’s not true what you said before,” I murmured.

 

“What isn’t?” He sounded utterly relaxed.

 

“That you never need to,“ I laughed a little, “have your clock cleaned.”

 

He snorted. “I didn’t _as much_ ,” he amended. “Not by Kibum, at least.”

 

“He doesn’t do it for you?”

 

He shrugged again. “I have to be in the right mood.”

 

“You didn’t seem to mind last night.”

 

“Mmmm. You were there. And he was concentrating on you and Taeminnie.”

 

I stretched experimentally, feeling soreness inside. “He was indeed.”

 

“ _You_ didn’t seem to mind.”

 

I chuckled. “You were there. And he had a compelling argument.”

 

“I would have to agree. He’s persuasive.”

 

“He always does have good ideas.”

 

“Well, he’s a creative guy.”

 

“So are you, my love. You had a good idea, too.”

 

“Did I? Oh, yes. Yes, I did.” He stroked a hand down my back. “We’ll have to have some lovely discussions on that one.”

 

I purred, rubbing my face against him. “Indeed. …Er…not any time _immediately_ , I think, though.”

 

We both chuckled, relaxing into silence. I let my mind wander, soaking up every quiet moment, knowing they were stolen, and he’d have to disappear, soon. But he’d been good as his word the other night: after as heavy a scene as last night had been, he was there for me. I would always be able to trust him. Jesus, if I couldn’t trust him when it all started…I’d never before had a partner upon whom I could lean so easily and completely before. Before Minho had even reached out for my curls last night, it would have been normal for a good, long negotiation to happen with all of us. But nothing had happened to me that I didn’t want, because Jjong knew me. Better than anyone else ever had before. And he knew his brothers, and he trusted them. I remembered Key, whispering to Jisoo. They had all been reading each other. Nothing had happened that wasn’t okay with everyone. They didn’t even need to speak to communicate, now. I laughed, faintly. Freaks.

 

“What?” he whispered.

 

“I was just thinking about you boys. Your psychic connection. You know each other so well.”

 

He hummed in agreement. “Though…I think sometimes, in some ways, you know me better.”

 

I looked up, frowning. “I do?”

 

He nodded, idly pushing a finger into my brows to smooth them. “Kibum could never take me apart the way you can. No one could. Just you. You know me. I trust you.”

 

“I—“ my voice cracked, and I had to clear my throat and try again. “Funny. I was just thinking the same about you.”

 

He pulled me closer, bent his forehead to mine. “I love you,” he whispered. “More than anything.”

 

I pressed close, dissolving into him. “I love you, too,” I whispered back. “More than anything.”

 

 

 

 

He had to leave before dinnertime. I was disappointed, but realistic: I knew he had appearances, and being absent an entire day had probably required a plethora of careful excuses. But he'd done what we both needed, and I felt secure with him.

 

With everyone else, well…that was gonna be a party. Which was why I knocked on Eunji’s door with a plate of fresh-baked cookies in my hands.

 

She looked at me, looked at the cookies, and burst out laughing.

 

“It’s fine, I swear. get in here.”

 

Jisoo was already at the table, and to my not-surprise, she took one look at me and blushed furiously, though she hid it with a smile, ducking her head.

 

“You made cookies?” she giggled.

 

“Er…well…I sort of fucked your husband, so….” Now I was the one furiously blushing. There was no point in playing coy, here.

 

She burst out laughing, and covered her face. “Oh, good G-d. Sit down, sit down.” She waved me into a seat and I sat. Carefully. Because ow.

 

“I figured I might as well just come out and say it,” I said, taking a sip of the blessedly cool water Eunji handed me. “Though looking at the two of you, I have a feeling this is _not_ the elephant in the room.”

 

Jisoo cocked her head, unfamiliar with the idiom.

 

“The thing everyone’s busy not talking about,” Eunji helpfully supplied. “And nooo, not by a long shot.”

 

I cleared my throat, sinking slightly in the chair. “Sooo…what have I missed?”

 

Eunji snagged a cookie. “We’d just agreed neither of us would have pegged Silver for a screamer,” she said sagely, munching. 

 

My eyes went wide. “He _is_?!”

 

One corner of her mouth quirked. “Yup. You were too…occupied to notice.”

 

“Ahh, yeah. Um…before we go any further— are we all cool? I know you were both okay at the time, but…I really wanted to make sure.”

 

Eunji nodded firmly. “I said yes, and everyone heard me. If I have a problem now, that’s on me. And I don’t. It was…it was weird, but I’d had my fun, so it was only fair.”

 

I blinked. “You did? Man, I missed a lot!”

 

She coughed slightly. “Well, now it’s my turn to turn red. Yes. While you were all staring at Taemin and Clara, Minho was….” She gestured vaguely, steam practically coming out of her ears. “He has some tricks.”

 

I stared. “And no one saw?”

 

She shook her head. “He can be very discreet. And…uh…it doesn’t take much for me.”

 

I sat back, eyes wide. “Damn, girl. I’m impressed. Wow. And that’s gotta be a _great_ trick at dull parties!” 

 

“You have no idea,” she said in a slightly constrained voice.

 

I shook my head. “I’m jealous, woman.”

 

Her eyes got wide. “Yeah! I sort of…wondered. You….” She was obviously trying to figure out a delicate phrasing. 

 

I sighed. “I’m on some meds that make it a little more difficult for me.”

 

The both of them made sympathetic noises. “Well, that’s no fun,” Eunji frowned.

 

I shrugged. “Yes and no. It was frustrating as hell at first, but, well, you know Jjong: he loves a challenge. So over the years, he’s worked out exactly what he needs to do, and we can just play for a nice long time. So it is absolutely not the least slight to your gentlemens’ prowess, but it literally is only Jjong who does it for me. Not that I didn’t enjoy…I mean…er.”

 

They both just looked at me, amused.

 

I fought down a wide-eyed giggle. “ _Sooo_. Silver’s a screamer?”

 

Jisoo almost clapped her hands in delight. “Yes! We were all— all right, not you, but the rest of us— very surprised!”

 

“Yeah, what happened to Clara and Taemin? Cos one minute, he’s got her on the floor, and he’s all” I gestured suggestively “and the next thing I know, she’s all ‘Heigh-ho, Silver! Awaaaay!’ …And I cannot believe I never made that joke before,” I added. “Please G-d make sure I never make it again?”

 

They both nodded solemnly, not having any frame of reference, anyway.

 

“Well,” Eunji began, “The two of them were going at it, and we were all staring. Then you and Minho reappeared, and I think the temperature in the room had gone up about 20 degrees by then. I looked at Jonghyun and sort of figured out he’d, er, seen me and Minho, and I was in a _very_ good mood, and I looked at you and you had this expression of…just shock and sort of…well, lust on your face, but also like someone had hit you? Over the head? With a really big mallet or something?”

 

I nodded. “I am so sure I did.”

 

Jisoo nodded, too. “A very big mallet.”

 

“So I sort of looked at Jonghyun, and he looked at you two, and back at me, and I knew what he was thinking, and I just thought, ‘Well, we can blame it all on the champagne later!’”

 

I barked out a laugh. “Oh, that ship has _so_ sailed. None of us were _that_ drunk.”

 

“I am very sensitive to champagne,” Jisoo said with a very straight face.

 

We all fell over giggling, and it took fresh tea to straighten us up. 

 

“Anyway!” Eunji continued, “You and Minho started your thing, and Clara was eating Taemin alive, and Key sort of shoved Silver at her, too, and suddenly Taemin looks over and sees his hyung has his other hyung’s woman up against the wall and his eyes! Oh my G-d, his _face_!”

 

“You would have thought he’d been hit over the head with your mallet,” Jisoo said. 

 

“Lots of them around, apparently,” I snarked.

 

“But Silver was all of a sudden all over it, and poor Taemin sort of got left behind,” Eunji sighed.

 

“She scratched him!” Jisoo exclaimed. “Did you see?”

 

“I saw the scratches,” I replied. “You’re not joking. She really got him— Poor Taeminnie!”

 

“He didn’t seem to mind at the time,” Jisoo snorted.

 

“And then out of nowhere, we hear this shout, and no one can figure it out at first, and then we’re all, ‘Oh my G-d, was that Silver?!’” Eunji looked shocked all over again. “We all thought he was so quiet!”

 

Jisoo’s deep sigh was highly theatrical. “It’s alway the quiet ones.”

 

“You are _terrible_!” I giggled at her.

 

“I…may just be!” 

 

Eunji and I toasted her with our teacups.

 

“Okay okay.” I swallowed the last of my tea and reached for another cookie. “So poor Taemin is left high and not very dry while Clara rides Silver into the sunset. Then what happened?”

 

“Then you fucked my husband,” Jisoo said helpfully, batting wide eyes and setting her teacup down primly.

 

I managed to get a napkin in front of my face just before my cookie exploded out of my nose.

 

“Oh my G-d,” I spluttered as Eunji pragmatically whacked me on the back, “Has she been like this all evening?”

 

“All evening,” Eunji affirmed. “I’m not sure if we’ve ruined her or opened a whole new world to her.”

 

Jisoo cocked her head. “Both?”

 

At least my coughing fit got the last crumbs out of my sinuses. “What,” I choked out, “in the name of the Sweet Baby Jesus did Kibum _say_ to you?!”

 

She held up her hands. “Just that…well, we’re all safe, and it was all for fun if I was okay with it, and maybe…maybe I would learn something I’d like. And I said I didn’t want to…um…do anything myself, but if Jinki wanted to, I would…uh…I’d be okay with….”

 

“Watching?” I supplied. 

 

Her ears flamed like the beacons of Gondor. “Yes,” she said meekly.”

 

“Well, you go, woman.” I fist bumped her, making her giggle again. 

 

“And did you learn anything?” Eunji prompted. She turned to me as an aside, “This is where we were when you came in.”

 

“Well.” Jisoo thought a moment, eyeing the cookies. “Mostly that…Jinki might like it if we…sometimes….” She waved her hand vaguely, trying to find the words.

 

“Played a little harder?” I suggested. 

 

She nodded. “That’s a good way to put it, I think.”

 

“And would you like that, too?”

 

I hadn’t thought human ears could turn that shade, but there they were. “Well,” she said slowly, sitting up a bit straighter and fixing her gaze on her tea, “I did this morning.”

 

Eunji and I whooped loudly enough to set off several neighbourhood dogs, and probably some cats. Jisoo very nearly slid under the table. 

 

I turned to Eunji. “Please, please tell me you have a similar tale of delight?”

 

She smiled at me slyly. “Maaaaaybe.”

 

I laughed, thunking face-first onto the table. “Oh, my G-d, what a night.”

 

“What about you?” Jisoo asked. 

 

“Sweet Jesus, no!” I said, turning slightly pale. “My lovely friends, I thank you for the generous loan of your companions, but I was so flagged after that last round. More than enough for me for quite some time.”

 

“Ha!” Eunji poked my arm. “You may not be able to hold your liquor, but you can certainly hold other things.”

 

“I give them back!” I protested.

 

“I was worried about you, though,” Jisoo said. “You were like a wet noodle when Jjong picked you up.”

 

“He was so careful,” Eunji added fondly. “He just said, ‘I won’t be at the signing tomorrow.’ And everyone just nodded. Jinki told him to take the day and just meet them at the radio station. I have no idea what he told everyone else. I know Jjong said he was going to call your shop.”

 

“Mmm. That he did. It was a pretty heavy scene— I went down into subspace and sort of just kept right on going.”

 

Jisoo gave me a curious look. “Subspace?”

 

I blinked. “Uh…okay, well, that’s a really long conversation, but suffice it to say that when we play, Jjong and I, sometimes we like to play with power. Control. Er…sometimes it’s bondage and sometimes it’s,” I cleared my throat— Jesus, had the room been this hot all evening?— “uh, other stuff. Like, I don’t like pain much, but sometimes he does. So sometimes I’m in control, sometimes he’s in control. We’re both what’s called switches. Which is really awesome, cos before Jjong, oh my G-d, my love life was sometimes the most hysterical disaster.”

 

“How do you settle who gets to…to—“ She flailed a little, looking for the right words.

 

“Who doms and who subs? We just read each other really well. I mean, not like we don’t screw it up sometimes and sort of wrestle it out, but that can be fun, too. It usually works out— he’s what we call top-heavy, and I’m bottom-heavy. So we fit really well— we balance each other out. And when I’m really in the mood, when I’m in that headspace to, you know, um….”

 

“‘Have every man in the room fuck you,’ I think it was?” Eunji supplied helpfully.

 

I shot her a look. “Yes, thank you, that. When I’m in that mood, I’m very subby. And we call that subspace. I’m sort of…oh, boy…I don’t have to— well, I _can’t_ think or make decisions. All I know is what I want. I just…leave it all to him. I trust him completely— that he won’t let anything bad happen to me, and he’ll take complete care of me. Like I trusted him to take care of me last night, even though it was a completely new and, er, kind of weird situation. We don’t usually…well, obviously, we don’t do major scenes like that often! I mean, we’ve never had an eleven-person orgy before.”

 

“Strike that off your bucket list,” Eunji murmured over her cup.

 

“I didn’t even know it was _on_ my bucket list,” I mused.

 

“I didn’t even know I _had_ a bucket list!” Jisoo sighed, eyes wide, wheels very clearly turning. “It certainly was something.”

 

I nodded, too. “You can say that again. Jesus. So, um…anyway, that’s the short answer. It sounds weird, I know, but…it’s really insanely freeing and, honestly, it makes us feel so, so close. Like I know I’m throwing myself off a cliff and he’s absolutely going to catch me. And I’m the same for him. He gets so overstressed with work, and then we just have some crazy playtime— not even always with sex— and he knows without a doubt he can let everything go and I’ll absolutely take care of him. And y’all _know_ what kind of control freak he is. They all are. Anyway. It’s, you know, something to think about. If they’re interested.”

 

From the twin smiles they both aimed into their teacups, I had a feeling we were going to have some interesting conversations over the next little while.

 

I reached for another cookie. “Has anyone seen Clara or Silver today?”

 

They both shook their heads. “Clara had a job tonight— I haven’t talked to her. Silver took off right after Clara was done with him. I think he was very surprised at himself. He didn’t look upset, though. Just surprised.”

 

I snorted. “I think we all were. I don’t think any of us have ever heard him be loud before! I think it’s, er…what pushed Minho over the edge, so to speak.”

 

Jisoo giggled again. “It was a pretty…um. It was a nice sound.”

 

“Jinki’s the quiet type?”

 

“Well, you’d know that for yourself, now, wouldn’t you?”

 

It was my turn to blush, and both of them laughed heartily at me for it.

 

“Listen, you two: we all have way too much blackmail material on each other already, okay?”

 

Eunji shook her head, reaching out for my hand and holding it warmly. “Your secrets are safe with me, right?”

 

Jisoo reached out as well, and the three of us held each others’ hands across the table. “We’re all safe with each other,” she said. “Whatever happens.”

 

“Whatever happens,” I nodded.

 


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> BUCKLE UP, BUTTERCUP.

Things went back to their usual bizarre normality comparatively quickly. The boys were far too busy to have time for heart-to-hearts about our mutual escapades, but I was content in that: while some interesting new possibilities were now on the table, what was done was done, everyone had had a fun time, and that was that. Our mutual earth may have shifted half a degree, but it kept spinning.

 

After some mulling, I decided it was time to develop a new hobby, something else I frequently did during comebacks and tours. There were some interesting classes in Hongdae, but I didn't really feel like something abstract: I wanted something to do with my hands. I wound up trawling some interesting little local papers, and to my astonishment, the one class that leapt out and tried to strangle me was, of all things, a beginner's class in glassblowing. 

 

"Is this where I make the pathetically easy jokes?" Amy said when I ran the idea past her over drinks in Itaewon one evening, three or four nights after our group escapade, which was about when I was able to sit down normally again.

 

"No," I replied, "this is where you say 'Oh my G-d, that sounds like the most amazing idea and I will totally take that class with you!'"

 

"Wait, me? You think I'd be good at this?"

 

"Well, I'm probably going to suck at it at first, so what's to lose?"

 

"If you suck it? Well, your face, for one, I'd imagine."

 

"Yes, yes, you're very funny. But seriously! It's in the evenings, once a week plus open shop hours, so why not?"

 

She shrugged. "I guess. It's not like I really _need_ my face, right?"

 

Thus we found ourselves a few days later in a studio off Insadong-gil, listening with some small trepidation as a slightly mad retired German art teacher with hair coiffed by an electrical outlet explained to a mixed group of six of us the basic layout of a glass studio. The fiercely glowing furnaces, the cool steel marver, the different weights of pipes. He explained some basic terms— gather, glory hole, annealing— and handed us all some tools to play with and get a feel for. The bladed, tweezer-like jacks fit oddly in my hand, and I wondered how I’d ever get used to them. The wooden paddles, though, made me hide a small grin. _Taemin, huh? Hm._

 

The studio was kept quite cool, even considering air conditioning was on everywhere now, as it was summer. But the force of the blast out of the glory hole was like taking a wet mop to the face. The first time it hit me, I coughed and staggered back a step, earning a round of good-natured laughs.

 

“You’ll get used to that,” Erik assured us.

 

“Yes, but will my eyebrows?” I laughed.

 

He only chuckled and waved a hand vaguely, which wasn’t exactly reassuring.

 

Each of us was given the opportunity to try a gather— putting the pipe into the furnace and spinning it to collect molten glass, just like scooping up honey on an old fashioned honey-dipper.   It wasn’t terribly heavy, but I could tell already it probably wouldn’t hurt to borrow some of Jjong’s weights, just to build up some endurance. The pipe was long and awkwardly-weighted, and it was hard to remember to keep spinning it while wrangling it out of the furnace. I was absolutely terrified I’d knock it against the side and break something, even though the glowing orange blob was the consistency of taffy on a hot day. I figured it was never too early to spot places where I could possibly initiate a disaster. Pays to be prepared and all.

 

Amy, though initially skeptical in the extreme, was converted into an excited believer in no time, flat. When Erik praised her steady hand, her smile was almost brighter than the glory hole, though she didn’t dare take her eyes off the gently amorphous mass at the end of the pipe. I patted myself on the back for some good choices.

 

The air outside felt almost cool as we stepped out afterwards. I was buoyed by a feeling of accomplishment, and in an all-around general good mood. Amy and I stopped for dinner at a chicken place that was blasting K-pop videos from multiple TVs, and talked non-stop about the class: what we wanted to make, what we were afraid we’d break, how our little class was surprisingly five women and one man, Erik’s hair— it was a good night.

 

Soon enough, of course, I heard a familiar sound effect and electronic trill, and looked up to see some beloved faces on the television right above Amy’s head. She looked up a second later, and then nodded approvingly.

 

“Have I ever told you your boyfriend’s hot and so are your neighbors?”

 

I sighed. “I know. It’s a curse, isn’t it?”

 

“It must be _so_ difficult, seeing them all every day. So very trying.”

 

I rolled my eyes. “Right about now, I only wish I saw them every day. When they’re promoting, you know how it is.”

 

“Oooo, I completely forgot,” she cringed. “Sorry, hon. I feel your pain: when Alan goes on tour, It’s weeks of me and the dog, just moping.”

 

“Yeah, that’s about it. Except no dog. Well, Jjong wants to get a dog. I want a cat, too.”

 

“That sounds like fun!”

 

“Yeah. I mean, he has all these trainees, but they just eat so much, you know?”

 

She giggled. “You have the most interesting life.”

 

I had a flash of Kibum’s fingers wrenching Taemin’s head back, how white the latter’s throat had been, and the roil of Jonghyun’s body beneath me. I took a quick hit off my Coke to hide what I hoped wasn’t a blush. “You have no idea.”

 

But Amy was watching the screen, and not me. “He’s pretty _and_ nice, your man,” she said. 

 

“Having met your Alan, I can say the same.”

 

“Indeed,” she agreed, “I think we’ve both lucked out.”

 

I looked back up at the screen. “Yup, yup.”

 

“Is he home yet?”

 

“Oh, man, I doubt it. They had a music show this afternoon, then a fansign and a radio show.”

 

“How long til it gets, you know, sane?”

 

I barked out a laugh, poking the remains of our basket of chicken with a stray bone. “It is _never_ sane with Jjong. Ever. But the promotional period is over in about...two weeks? If I survive that long.” Idly, I opened up my phone and sent a quick text. It couldn’t hurt to ask, right?

 

“And then what?”

 

“Wellll…he once promised me a nice secluded getaway, and I’m tempted to cash in that chip, you know? But it’s going to depend on a bunch of things. The new group he’s working with has their debut, and they’re going to be doing a couple of shows, and more appearances and live shows, and it’s going to be hectic. And Jjong’s already started working on his own group’s album, and when he gets into that headspace, he’s so damned focussed, and…eh. You know how he is.”

 

She hummed thoughtfully.

 

“What?” I asked.

 

“I think…,” she said slowly,”You should push for Tahiti. Maybe Hawaii.”

 

“Ha. I’ll be lucky if we can get as far as Jeju.”

 

Suddenly, my phone went off, and in surprise, I flicked it open. 

 

 

**_Me_ ** _: When are you home, hot stuff?_

 

**_Boy Thing_ ** _: How about now?_

 

 

I must have made some noise of surprise, because when I looked up, Amy was grinning at me. “Get out of here.”

 

“No, I can—“

 

“Dinner’s on me this time. You get the next one.” She pushed my purse towards me. “ _Go_.”

 

“You’re a true friend.”

 

“Yes, yes I am,” she replied. “Out!”

 

The metro was long closed, but there was a cab five seconds after I stepped outside. The roads were even clear, so before long, I was eagerly trotting down my short hallway, and punching my code into the door— or trying to. I was excited, I missed him, I wanted to tell him about my class, and my fingers slipped. I made a noise of frustration that snapped into an exclamation of surprise as the door flew open, and my lover grabbed me right off my feet, swinging me around and up against a wall.

 

“Hello!” he laughed. “Imagine seeing you here!”

 

“I know! Isn’t it a shock?”

 

His smile was infectious. “A good one, I hope?”

 

I leaned forward and kissed him with a loud smack. “Yes! The bestest ever. An awesome surprise.”

 

“I was just about to text you when you texted me. We got done early tonight.”

 

“So I see. Whatcha gonna do with all this sudden free time, hm?”

 

His eyes crinkled as he settled his body against mine, pushing me against the wall, his arms around me. “Are you trying to insinuate something, here, miss?”

 

“Mmmmmaybe,” I giggled, wriggling my hips slightly against his. 

 

“You think you’ve recovered enough from your last escapades?”

 

“Oh, _my_ escapades?”

 

He rolled his eyes. “All right, _our_ escapades.”

 

“Mmmmmaybe,” I said again. “Only one way to find out.”

 

“You have a point,” he said. And pinched my ass.

 

From there, it was shrieking and giggling and racing around the apartment, chasing each other and dodging around furniture while also shedding clothes— not an easy feat, but a fun as hell one. He didn’t catch me, in fact, until I got myself snagged on my own jeans, and nearly face planted into the dresser in one of the guest rooms. He threw me over one shoulder, peeling off the entangling denim and soundly slapping my butt as he marched us into the bedroom. 

 

Much later, breathless and boneless and still a little giggly despite being very, very pleasantly sore, I stroked his flushed cheek, and lost myself in the smile in his eyes, reflecting sappily that though I may have lost that battle, we’d both won the war.

 

 

 

 

The fucking merry-go-round— a good day, a bad day, a good day, a bad day— was beginning to get to me. To put it mildly.

 

Jjong was getting close to the end of promotions. A week more, and they’d be over. The part of me that had been through this at least two dozen times over the years was going in circles: I’d trained myself to be happy when promotions ended, because it meant we had time together, and he could sleep and take care of himself. But this time, as soon as SHINee finished, a week later, Skylight would have their Hot Debut Stage not once but twice, on M Countdown and Show Champion. They’d already done several photo shoots for the skateboard company, and people at Jjong’s agency were grooming them like Korean Professor Higginses. Thankfully, the boys were no Eliza Doolittles— they already knew a lot about the business, and were eager to know more. Plus, the idea was to get them used to being in the spotlight and comporting themselves with confidence on TV and in public, not making them into something they weren’t. 

 

Still, it was stressful. There had been more first place trophies, and that made the grind seem worthwhile, but it was still a grind. I was tired. Waking up to an empty bed, going to sleep in an empty bed— it wore me down emotionally. I was just tired. That night he’d gotten home early had been so brilliant! But it threw the other nights into a cold contrast. I just wasn’t sleeping well. And I was worried that my resistance was low, and I was working on some kind of a cold or something. Which made me really want to be babied. Which, in turn, made me frustrated. _I am a grown-ass woman,_ I told myself many times. _I am perfectly capable of amusing myself._

 

I’d had a frustrating night at glassblowing class, finally managing to do exactly what I’d been afraid I’d do the very first night: taking an almost-finished piece and whacking it against the wall of the glory hole, completely destroying hours of work. Erik had been completely sanguine about it, shoveling the pieces up and dumping them into a barrel of scraps and shards. I had had to fight not to burst into tears on the spot. Amy, bless her, had handed me a Pepsi, but for once, it didn’t even taste good. I just couldn’t win.

 

And now, the final blow: I was siting on the bathroom floor yet again, having another meltdown. My period had come once more.

 

Again and again, I tried to remind myself that we had expected this. Logically, I knew that. I knew the odds of my getting pregnant so fast were astronomical. I also knew that beyond question, this would have been an awful time to get a positive test— after the party we’d had? So I should have been glad. I should have been fine. But see above, re: tired. Possibly sick. Worn down. 

 

So yeah, I cried.

 

I got myself under control after a good long sob, and cleaned up my face, took my meds, brushed my teeth. But sleep was elusive, and when Jjong staggered in, exhausted, at almost 3am, I was still awake, staring at the ceiling. He was silent as possible, and I feigned the sleep I wasn’t getting just to make sure he came straight to bed; we could talk later. But when he finished in the bathroom and climbed in beside me, stifling a groan and smelling of mint and moisturizer, I couldn’t stop myself from rolling over and curling up against him. 

 

He drew in a breath to speak, but I pushed a finger against his lips, resting my head on his shoulder. His hand, stroking my shoulder, stilled a moment in confusion, but then he continued, running his fingers across my skin gently until, fairly quickly, sleep overtook him. 

 

I had to wait a good long while in the dark for it to take me, too.

 

 

 

 

 

Skylight’s TV debut was incredible. I mean, I hadn’t had any doubt, but they were absolutely incredible. They were full of good-natured frustration at the little mistakes they were sure they’d made, but on the whole, they were overjoyed and bursting with excitement. It was infectious, and standing beside Jonghyun when the boys came back into the dressing room after their debut, my exhaustion was washed away for a while, and I reveled in their happiness. They were full of plans, full of new dreams, and even the ones who had been skeptical of doing such an idol-ish thing had begun to think it could be a solid career move if they played it right and kept their individuality, their indie edge. A few years ago, I would have said it might be difficult, but the K-pop scene had become more open and broad since then, and, with Jjong and King and the rest of the company guiding and assisting them, I knew they’d find a way.

 

Jaxi seemed the most affected of all of them, breaking down into tears in a corner after their second stage, while Seungjun patted his shoulder and hugged him, smiling indulgently. They were all stunned by what they’d done, and so, so eager to move on and climb new mountains. I watched them exult for a while, sitting on the sidelines, absorbing their joy, when Jjong came over and kissed the top of my head.

 

“You okay, baby?”

 

I smiled up at him. “Just tired, honey.”

 

He frowned. “You’ve been saying that for days. You coming down with something?”

 

I shrugged. “I’m gonna hope not. Too much to do at the shop and I’m falling behind.”

 

He considered me a moment. “You know…I can take some time off next week.”

 

I raised an eyebrow. “What exactly are you implying, Mr. Kim?”

 

“Oh, I don’t know. Mmmm…Thailand? Hawaii? Monaco?”

 

“Are you serious?”

 

“I think we both need it.”

 

I remembered my crying fit on the cold bathroom tiles. “Yeah, I…think— yeah. Oh, Jjong, I would love that.”

 

He noted decisively. “I’ll see to it.”

 

I caught his hand, squeezing. “Somewhere…you know, secluded, maybe?”

 

His answering grin was slow. “I like the way you think.”

 

I beamed back at him.

 

“You have to promise me one thing before we go, though,” he said.

 

“Of course, jagiya. What’s up?”

 

“Will you go to the doctor and find out what’s going on? If this is the flu or something, you should be home in bed.”

 

“Yes, darling,” I sighed. “I will.” As he squeezed my hand again and turned back to his protégées, I mentally rolled my eyes. I’d worry about it tomorrow.

 

And as it happened, I wasn’t wrong. 

 

In the middle of class, working on a vase with Amy, she opened the furnace door and a blast of heat caught me square in the face. It had happened before, and I’d been fine. I should have been fine. But this time? The edges of my vision danced with black smears and swirls. I had just enough time to consider remarking on it— and then I hit the floor.

 

 

 

 

 

I wasn’t out for long, apparently. But when I opened my eyes again, groggily, I was in the back office of the studio, lying on a sofa, with Erik, Amy, and one of our classmates standing over me. Amy had my phone, and Erik was nodding at something our classmate was saying. It filtered through my brain fog very, very slowly that she’d told us she was a pediatrician. But that just made me confused. Wasn’t I too old for that?

 

Still, when she leaned down and asked me gently how I felt, I tried to answer honestly. “Like a volcano hit me?”

 

She smiled. “I’m not surprised.” She touched the back of my head carefully, moving her fingers gently across my skull. “You hit the floor pretty hard. Any pain?”

 

“Nooooo _YES_.”

 

She nodded, moving her fingers away. “Thought so. No concussion, I don’t think, but you’re going to go get checked out.”

 

“I’m fine, really— just some flu thing….”

 

“Nope,” she said. “You’re going.”

 

I looked up at Amy, sighing. I might as well. I’d promised Jjong anyway, so….

 

As if the mere thought had conjured him, he was there, suddenly, in a beautiful deep cerulean silk suit, with a dark scarlet shirt. He looked lovely, except for the half-panicked expression on his face.

 

“I’m fine,” I said quickly. “I’m _fine_.” I tried to sit up, but the pediatrician— Hyunyoung, that was it, Hyunyoung— put a gentle hand on my shoulder. I reached out for his hand— the look in his eyes was terrible; I needed to comfort him, wipe it away. “Jjong….”

 

He took my hand, sitting carefully on the edge of the sofa. “Hey, jagi. What happened? How do you feel?”

 

“I dunno what happened. Furnace opened and I…I passed out?” I looked up at Erik.

 

“She went down like a sack of bricks,” he nodded, silver hair waving like frosted cattails. “You had us worried! You hit your head on the floor— _crack_!” He slapped his hands together and I winced at the noise. 

 

“I’m gonna take your word for that,” I said. “I remember the falling part— not the landing part.” I closed my eyes again— Christ, I was so tired of being so tired!

 

I heard Jjong talking to my friends, and something about it soothed me. I let the conversation wash over me, drifting towards sleep again. Part of me wanted to make formal introductions, but I supposed it would have to wait. 

 

“Baby?” Jjong was kneeling in front of me now, touching my face.

 

“Mm?” I blinked drowsily at him.

 

He stroked my cheek gently. “I’m gonna take you to the hospital now, okay?”

 

I drew in a breath to protest, but the thought of arguing was exhausting, so I let it out on a sigh.

 

He put a finger against my lips. “Exactly. Now, can you stand up?”

 

“Yeah, yeah.” I gathered up my brains, and pushed myself up, only to feel a wave of nausea fill me so strongly it pushed against the back of my face. and a rush of sweat bloomed on my face. I bit my lips, hard, as I heard Amy make a sympathetic noise. 

 

“Oh, honey, you just turned absolutely green! Do you need a trash can or something?”

 

Thank G-d I had enough sense not to shake my head, waving a hand at her instead, and breathing very carefully though my nose. I counted to fifteen, slowly, and the nausea was gone. 

 

Jjong was still on the floor in front of me, eyes wide and worried. “I’m fine, jagiya. I am,” I assured him. “I probably just picked up some virus thing at the store or something."

 

“I just hate seeing you sick, jagi. I wish I could make it all better,” he said softly.

 

My heart melted. “You’re here; that makes it better.”

 

I swear he blushed.

 

Very carefully, and very slowly, I stood up, happily finding it didn’t engender more nausea, dizziness, or other unpleasantness. Amy handed me my purse as we all made our way out through the now-empty studio to the front door. I could see a black minivan waiting outside, and Sanghee emerged from the driver’s seat and came around to open the side door for me. Jonghyun went in first to help me up, but a few hits of fresh air had me feeling much better.

 

I said as much to everyone, but didn’t dare protest being taken to the hospital again. Not with the look in Jjong’s eyes. i simply waved to Erik, Amy, and Hyunyoung, and rested my head on Jjong’s shoulder as we took off. I wasn’t quite as tired, but I was still feeling a little unsteady, and his presence was unbelievably comforting. I patted his hand, and he slid an arm around my shoulders.

 

“How do you feel?” he asked softly.

 

“Much better, I promise,” I said. “Sorry I had to drag you away.”

 

“Aish! Don’t start. We’d just finished our segment. Your timing was perfect.”

 

“Didn’t you have something else tonight?”

 

“Just a meeting with the boys. Skylight,” he clarified. “It’s fine— King will take over. And probably Kibum.”

 

“Oh, good.” I closed my eyes again. “They’re good boys. Skylight. No, all of them. All of you.” I yawned. Okay, maybe I was still a little tired.

 

But I managed to get out of the car and into the hospital on my own power, not even leaning on Jjong too much. Someone, it seemed, had phoned ahead, as we were met just inside the door by a tall doctor in pristine white, her hair drawn back in a sleek, faultless chignon. She greeted us by name, and led us down a few corridors to an exam room, where she gestured us to be seated. She asked my name, my birthdate, and for a quick rundown of what had happened. I told her about how tired I’d been lately, and how run-down, and about my surprise nap at the glass studio. She nodded, and I braced myself.

 

Sure enough: “Is there any chance you might be pregnant?”

 

I glanced at Jonghyun. I really hadn’t wanted to get into this in front of him. But he took my hand and held it tight in his.

 

“No,” I said heavily. “I had my period the other day.”

 

He put my fingers to his lips, kissing them softly. “It’s okay, jagi,” he said softly.

 

But the doctor only cocked her head. “You say you had it for one day?”

 

I nodded. “One or two. And it was very light. But I’ve gone off my birth control. A few months ago, now. And my period has always been irregular, so….” I shrugged.

 

“Mmm,” she hummed. “Trying to get pregnant?”

 

Jjong nodded. My mouth twisted. _Trying_.

 

A nurse came in, then, and Jjong kept hold of my hand while they drew several vials of blood. I also supplied a urine sample (for which, yes, I let go of him, and even retired to a more appropriate room). Once I was settled in again beside him, the doctor very pleasantly asked us to wait for her, and left the room. 

 

There was an uncomfortable silence. 

 

Tentatively, he touched my hand, took it in his again. “Jagi.”

 

I couldn’t think of anything to say. Stared at the floor.

 

“Baby, why didn’t you _tell_ me?” he asked, his voice plaintive.

 

And just like that, with no warning, I was crying. My whole frame bent and shook, sobs coming from spaces inside I didn’t even know I had. The force of my sudden, overwhelming reaction seemed to stun him. Truthfully, it stunned me, as well.

 

“I’m sorry, Jjong, I’m sorry— I just— you were so busy, and there was nothing to tell, and I didn’t want to make it all worse, i just— I just—“

 

“I could have been there for you, baby,” he said gently, his own voice rough now. “You didn’t have to go through this without me. Don’t keep things from me— we’re doing this together. Both of us. And we’ve only just started— it’s only been a few months! You know your doctor told us it would take a while. It’s okay, baby, it’s okay….” He rubbed my back, pulling me close. “I love you so much. I love you so, so much, jagiya. We’re going to have a beautiful baby one day, I promise you. I swear. It _will_ happen.”

 

I couldn’t stop crying, burying my face in the crook of his neck, clinging to him. G-d, I was a mess. And the worst part, I could see now, was that I’d just been dumb about it all. I _should_ have told him. I _should_ have shared the disappointment. It was so early, yet, and there wasn’t any huge cause for alarm, but I’d built it up so enormously in my head, even while trying not to think about it. If I’d opened up about it, we could have talked about it, and I wouldn’t be here now, ruining his beautiful silk suit. 

 

I sat up, wiping at my face and, ineffectually, at his shoulder. He solemnly handed me tissues from the doctor’s desk. I almost had to laugh at the expression on his face. 

“I’m fine,” I said, sniffling. “I’m fine. And you’re right. I should have. I don’t know why I got so…tangled up over it all. I just…I’m just impatient, I guess. Isn’t that ironic? Took you so long to convince me, and now I’m the impatient one.”

 

He stroked my back again while I mopped my face. “It’s okay, baby. We’ll get there. We will. We knew it was going to take a long time. We _knew_. It’s okay.”

 

I nodded. “I know. I know. And…honestly, Jjong, I guess…I guess it’s better this way. Can you imagine if I hadn’t gotten my period this month? Can you imagine if….”

 

It hung there in the air between us. He shook his head. “Let’s just…let’s not go there, all right?” He smiled. “That would be borrowing far more trouble than we need.”

 

I had just gotten myself moderately under control when the door opened, and our doctor walked back in, apologising for taking so long. There was an expression in her eyes, though, that hadn’t been there before. I couldn’t read it, and I found Jjong’s hand and gripped it.

 

She sat behind her desk, and folded her hands, looking at us both.

 

“Well,” she said, “I think we have an idea why you may have fainted. Also why you’re so tired.” She smiled at us both. “Congratulations: you’re pregnant.”

 

There was a roaring in my ears, and I couldn’t feel my face or my fingers. I heard Jonghyun let out an incredulous laugh next to me. I had a flash of the night he’d chased me through the apartment, of his laughter then.

 

I stared. “But…I thought….”

 

“The bleeding a few weeks ago?” She nodded, smiling warmly. “It’s not uncommon. Some women have what’s called implantation bleeding. It’s when the embryo first attaches itself to the uterine wall. I can recommend some very good obstetricians for you, if you need, and they’ll be able to give you more tests, but as I said, it’s very common, and usually nothing to worry about.”

 

“Oh my G-d,” I breathed, as it tentatively, slowly, began to sink in. “Oh, my G-d. We’re…we’re _pregnant_?”

 

She smiled again, her eyes twinkling. “Yes, you are.”

 

I turned to Jjong, and at the same time, we both started crying, crashing into each other in joy. “I said it would happen,” he said, voice breaking, “I mean, I didn’t— but I _told_ you— see?”

 

I kissed him, and kissed him again. “You’re right. You’re always right— you’re brilliant.”

 

The doctor handed us both tissues, this time, and we both mopped at our eyes, still holding hands. I needed him to keep me tethered a little— I was afraid, with the way I was floating, I’d fly straight out the window.

 

I sniffled mightily, and tried to clear my head. “So…is there any way to know when I’m due?”

 

“Well,” she cocked her head, considering her desk calendar. “Implantation bleeding generally occurs between six to twelve days after conception. So going by when you said it occurred…hm. I’d say you’re looking at a conception date somewhere around…here.” She circled a week on the calendar and pushed it towards us. “Which would put you due, oh, about early March. But again, you’ll want to get a more exact….”

 

The roaring was back in my ears as she spoke, and I lost track of what she was saying as the floating feeling deserted me, and I crashed back down to earth, staring in horror at the calendar. 

 

“Jjong,” I whispered, unable to properly speak. “ _Jjong_.”

 

He broke off whatever he had been asking her, and pulled the calendar closer to look at it. Half a second’s pause, and then I heard his sudden intake of breath as it hit him, too.

 

The first date circled on the calendar was the night of their first win. 

 

I looked up into his eyes as the colour slowly faded from his face.

 


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I looked at everyone’s faces a moment, took in their looks of concern and confusion, and felt my heart twisting and my throat closing. Nothing was ever going to be the same after this. Nothing. How bad it would be— I couldn’t process it. I couldn’t know. Oh, G-d, let me not fuck this up.

 

 

The last ten minutes in the doctor’s office had been some of the worst of my life. Surreal. The dead silence that fell over all of us was deafening, and I blanked completely. Jonghyun, with his public training, managed to say something, anything, while I stared at the calendar, silently begging it to change, somehow, to say something different. This couldn’t be happening. 

 

I heard her voice, knew she’d asked me something. I flicked a glance upwards, but couldn’t meet her eyes.

 

“Is there some doubt, then, as to…?”

 

I swallowed, my jaw tight. “Yes.”

 

Her confusion was plain. “If this is…if you need me to contact the police for you—“

 

I looked up sharply. It took me a second. “No! No, nothing like that. G-d. It was…no, nothing like that.”

 

I couldn’t look at Jonghyun. I couldn’t make myself look at him. I was terrified at what I’d see in his eyes. But his hand came into my field of vision, and he put it on my arm a moment, awkwardly. It burned.

 

“It’s…it’s not your fault,” he said quietly. “It’s just. It isn’t.”

 

My nails cut moons into my palms. Wasn’t it? 

 

The doctor cleared her throat. “An ultrasound may be able to give you a more conclusive date of conception. And paternity tests can be done at 8 weeks.” She paused. “I’m sorry, but the most helpful sonograms in this case will also be at eight weeks. There’s unfortunately very little that could be done before then.”

 

There was an even more uncomfortable silence, and when she spoke again, her voice was strained. “If this…if this were a matter for the police, under Korean law, you would have certain…options that would otherwise not be available to you.”

 

I looked up, staring at her until comprehension dawned. I found myself shaking my head. “No.”

 

Jonghyun’s voice was low. “If you…if you wanted to….”

 

“No,” I repeated. But then I had to look at him. He looked wrecked, staring at his hands, twisted in his lap. This had been his dream first. G-d, what had we done? “Do you…want…?”

 

He swallowed hard, finally met my eyes. “No.”

 

I don’t know which of us was more lost. 

 

The doctor pulled a pad of paper across the desk towards her, and spent a moment writing. She tore off the sheet, pushing it to us. He took it, read it quickly, handed it to me.

 

“These are some names. Some of the best private clinics in Seoul. I would suggest making some calls, and seeing if you like them. They’ll be able to stay with you from now through birth. It’s very convenient. And if you…change your mind, they may also be able to offer assistance.”

 

I nodded blankly, not really taking in the names on the sheet— mostly Gangnam addresses, of course. Rich clients could get anything they needed there. _If I change my mind._

 

Jonghyun rose, assuring her we’d make an appointment immediately, reaching to shake her hand, thanking her. I followed, slowly, still numb. 

 

She stood, walked us to the door. “I hope that…everything works out for you,” she finally said.

 

He put his hand on my back, this time leaving it there.

 

“It will,” he said.

 

The ride back to the apartment was torture. We sat in thick silence, stiff and fragile. I stared out the window, he stared at the floor. It was hard to think with all the noise echoing now in my head: questions and more questions and recriminations and confusion. They all screamed to come out, but I was so stunned I couldn’t concentrate on any of them. I knew if I started voicing them all coherently, even inside my own skull, I’d be overwhelmed. I’d just drown.

 

His phone pinged, fracturingly loud in the dark. 

 

“It’s Jinki,” he said quietly. “He wants to know how you are.”

 

I sat, watching streetlamps flash past. “What are we going to tell him?” I finally asked.

 

He was quiet for a a few moments. “We don’t have to tell anyone anything. Not until we know.”

 

I considered a moment, then shook my head. “I don’t think I can live with everyone and not tell them. And if…it’s not….” I took a breath. “They should know.”

 

He nodded once. “Let’s get it over with.”

 

I shrugged. He turned back to his phone.

 

Everyone was assembled in our living room when we got back. Only Silver was absent. I could feel the rush of questions when we walked in, but everything stilled almost instantly, as if a frost had blown over the room. I walked across the room, through everyone, feeling as if I were running a gauntlet, and took a seat in the armchair. I could feel my skin vibrating, and I held on tight from the inside, trying to keep myself from exploding into glittering shards. Jonghyun stood beside me; his hand clenching slowly against his thigh. I looked at everyone’s faces a moment, took in their looks of concern and confusion, and felt my heart twisting and my throat closing. Nothing was ever going to be the same after this. Nothing. How bad it would be— I couldn’t process it. I couldn’t know. _Oh, G-d, let me not fuck this up. Let me not break them_.

 

I looked up at him, and I could tell much of the same was running through his mind. His brothers. His family. His life. I couldn’t make him say it.

 

I took a breath.

 

“I’m pregnant.”

 

Jisoo leapt up with a glad exclamation, then froze, her hands over her mouth. One by one, expressions around the room changed from joy to sudden realisation, and varying shades of shock as instinctive sounds of happiness died, suddenly swallowed up. It was as if the horrible silence had been following us from the car and had just caught up, and for a long, awful moment, no one said anything. My heart hammered inside me so hard my stomach churned in time; I had to remind myself to breathe, breathe, stay awake. Jonghyun made no sound at all, his knuckles white against the brilliant blue of his suit.

 

Finally, Jinki spoke up, his voice low and grim. “I assume, since you’re telling us all like this, there’s some doubt as to…as to who the father is.”

 

Jonghyun nodded heavily. “The doctor gave us a possible range of about a week. The night— that night is in that range.”

 

“It could be any of us,” Taemin said, his face pale and eyes wide.

 

I nodded. 

 

Eunji frowned, seeming to find her feet first. “Did you two have sex any other time around then?”

 

I was past blushing at this point. “Yes. About a week later.”

 

“So your first sonogram can tell you which night it was.”

 

Jisoo shook her head. “Not this early. It’s only been…five weeks since…since then?”

 

“Four, five— something like that,” Eunji mused. Jisoo nodded.

 

“Aren’t you on birth control?” Clara asked, leaning against the window frame. Her jaw was tight.

 

I felt my face turn hot, and my chest tightened. “No.”

 

She blinked. “The _fuck_?”

 

Kibum rubbed his hands across his face. “That’s not helping.”

 

Jonghyun forestalled me. “We…we decided….” He took a deep breath before plunging on. “We decided a few months ago we were going to start trying. We didn’t want to talk about it yet, because her doctor said that with as irregular as her cycle is, plus some other issues, it would take months— possibly a year— before we could get pregnant. This should have been impossible.”

 

“Well, apparently not,” she snapped.

 

“ _Clara!_ ” Ki snapped right back. She turned to the window, bracing her hands on the frame, her back to us. 

 

“It doesn’t matter,” Kibum went on heavily. “It could still have happened. Nothing’s 100%.”

 

I looked at Clara’s back, how stiff her posture was, and my heart sank even further. _Oh, fuck._ _What had we all missed?_

 

Minho reached out to Eunji, taking her hand. “We all did this. It’s no one’s fault. It just happened.” 

 

Jisoo stood up and started across the room. I couldn’t read her face. Jinki stood quickly, reaching for her in alarm. She paused, then shook her head with a fleeting smile. 

 

“We need tea,” she said firmly. “All of us.”

 

There was a subtle drop in tension in the room at her gentle practicality— almost like a breath of a breeze. Kibum put his hand on Clara’s spine, and she turned to him, her face set, but her shoulders unfrozen.

 

I went to get up. “I’ll help.”

 

Jisoo looked amused. “You will not. You will sit right there and rest. Jonghyun, make sure she doesn’t get up.”

 

And somehow, in that moment, it hit me: no matter what drama was going on, no matter what drama was coming: I was pregnant. There was a baby inside me. I was going to have a child. I stared at her, and my jaw opened slightly. She smiled, nodded, and continued to the kitchen. I found my hand had gravitated to my waist, and I sat back, momentarily lost. Stunned. Jjong found my other hand, and I looked up at him. His eyes were dark, and he slowly lowered himself to his knees beside me. 

 

“It’ll be okay,” he said quietly. “It will, jagi.”

 

I leaned forward and put my forehead to his. G-d, I hoped so.

 

 

 

 

 

I had expected that there would be a long group talk at that point, but to my surprise, Jinki pulled rank. 

  
“We need some time, I think,” he said. “We need to think about how we’re all going to handle this. Keeping in mind that in the end, there may not be anything for _us_ to handle.” He nodded towards Jjong. “But we’re all going to be adults about it, yes?”

 

There were solemn nods all around, even from Clara, still withdrawn against the window, half-hidden behind Kibum. She wouldn’t quite meet my eyes, but I could see the pain and the anger in hers. Eunji and Jisoo bent their energies to being nurturing and mentoring, concentrating on the pregnancy part of the situation, but I wondered if it was to keep at bay the knowledge that the embryo inside me might be half their partners’ DNA. Taemin, as he left, glanced down at my stomach, his breath quick and shallow. 

 

“Noona,” he began, then faltered.

 

“It’s okay,” I said softly, though I knew no such thing.

 

He looked up at me, teeth catching his lip. “I can’t…I wanna….”

 

I reached out and put my arms around his tall, fluid frame. “Don’t worry now,” I said. “We’ll have time for that later.”

 

He stepped back after a moment, and nodded. “I'm just afraid you’re right,” he said, grim.

 

 

 

 

 

I debated a long time about telling Eunhee and Minhyuk I was pregnant. Obviously, if everything continued as it was, they would find out eventually. But how could I even begin to talk about a baby with the question of its father hanging over my head? And how could I avoid getting into that whole mess? They were my friends as well as my employees, yes, but this was drama I didn't need at the store. I needed to have somewhere I could think about other things, and just work, because these were obviously going to be some of the longest weeks of my life, waiting for the sonogram and the paternity test, and if I didn't get some space, I would lose my mind completely. 

 

So I went in, two days later, merely repeating the story of a sudden flu, and assuring them both that I felt so much better, though I'd have to take it easy for a little while. They didn't question me, and I fought the attendant guilt by telling myself this was practise for everyone else in the world-- just for now. I reminded myself, too, that tons of women never talked about their pregnancies until after the first trimester. I would always have that excuse to fall back on when I told them. And I would tell them. I would.

 

They didn't question me when my first day back was brief and Jonghyun showed up at the door to collect me, merely assuring me they had everything under control, and telling me to drink my tea and get some rest. I smiled at them as I left, conveniently neglecting to tell them we weren't going straight home.

 

The ride to Gangnam was comparatively quick, and in no time, Jjong paused in front of a heavy, distinguished-looking wrought iron gate, which slid back to reveal a courtyard, paved in brick, and large enough to park a dozen cars or so. Before both of my feet were on the ground, he was there, taking my hand. I stood slowly, searching his face.

 

He'd been quiet these two days. We’d barely spoken, but the silence had been comforting, somehow. With his promotions and Skylight’s over, we’d had comparative oceans of time together, and we spent most of it curled quietly against each other, watching TV mindlessly, reading, doing nothing at all. I could hear the thoughts churning in his brain, and I knew he would let them out when he could make sense of them. It was just as well: my own head was such a mess, and I needed the space, too.

 

Eunji and Jisoo had seemed to understand, both of them coming at different times to check up on me quietly— ask how I felt, if I needed anything. I’d told them we were adjusting, and they both nodded. 

 

“It’s very different now, isn’t it?” Jisoo said, gently smiling. “It takes getting used to. But you will. I promise.”

 

I caught at her hand as she turned to leave, suddenly afraid. “Jisoo. What if—“ I couldn’t finish the sentence.

 

She paused, then shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess we’ll all find out?”

 

I stood in front of Jjong now, and all the what-ifs needled me everywhere: not just the issues with his brothers, but now, here, in this place, thoughts of what my body would go through, what could happen. I was older, but I’d still be a first-time mother. I didn’t like to admit it. I didn’t like to even face it. But I was scared.

 

He saw it, of course. 

 

“Do you want to go in?” he asked gently.

 

“We have an appointment,” I said, slightly hoarse.

 

“I’ll take you home, jagiya. We can come back another day.”

 

I squeezed his hand, took a breath. “No. It’s okay. I want to see it. It’s just….” I glanced at the sleek glass doors, framed in beautiful honey-coloured wood, made to be welcoming. “I just keep thinking, ‘What if they knew? What if they found out?’”

 

He laughed ever so slightly through his nose. “Found out what? That you’re pregnant? That you’re going to have a baby? That’s all they need to know, baby, and it’s all true.”

 

I nodded, rolling my head on my stiff neck. “Yeah. You’re totally right. Come on— let’s do this.”

 

It was a pleasant place, warm and comforting, and more like a hotel than a medical center. There were several young women at the reception desk, and they all looked up with gracious smiles. I saw one’s eyes go slightly wide, looking at Jjong, and I faltered. But then she met my eyes, and very carefully folded her lips, shaking her head slightly. The smile still stayed in her eyes, though, and I let out the breath I didn’t know had caught in my throat. Eventually, it was going to get out that there was going to be a new K-pop baby in the world. I would have to get used to it. And besides, I had more than enough else to worry about.

 

A woman came out from an office behind reception. She was about my height, mid-forties, pleasantly curvy, and exuding an air of comfort. She greeted us in English, and by name— I had a feeling we were pretty easy to recognise, appointment or no.

 

She took us in hand, guiding us from area to area only as fast as we were comfortable. There were places for exams, for consultations, for pre-natal classes, for lectures and discussions. She switched easily back and forth between Korean and English, as did Jjong and I, and assured us that if we decided to have the birth there, there would be English speakers in the room. I looked at her in a bit of surprise, and she laughed. 

 

“You’d be amazed how many women we’ve seen— some of them having lived here for years!— who forget every last word of their Korean when they’re in labour.”

 

Jjong and I both laughed, and I suddenly realised it was probably the first time in days that we had. It felt good.

 

We were both more relaxed by the time we left, and I could even sense, far off in the distance, that there might be a time on the horizon I could even look forward to the birth with joy. I wasn’t there yet, of course. But maybe. One day. 

 

In the car on the way home, though, I realised it was time to start talking. We had decisions to make, and they weren’t going to get any easier.

 

I smoothed my fingers over his hand on the gear shift.

 

“Jagi.”

 

He glanced over at me. “Mm?”

 

“I think…we’re gonna need to know. Before the baby’s here.”

 

He nodded, slowly. “Yeah.”

 

I bit my lip. “I would…prefer…no one at the birthing center know about it. I don’t want…I don’t think they’d judge us or anything, but I don’t want to think about them thinking about it while I’m trying to push our child out. I know it sounds silly, but…I just wouldn’t. And it’s a large organisation. There are a lot of people there. The last thing on this planet I want is for someone to talk. I know one of those receptionists knew who you are.”

 

“Yeah,” he sighed. “I saw that. I know. But going back to the hospital for a test is no better.”

 

I watched the skin care shops and electronics boutiques speed past. “We could…go somewhere else. Go visit my parents?”

 

He nodded slowly. “We could. Though…do you want to be around them while you’re dealing with this? No, before that— are you going to tell them?”

 

I sank back into my seat, closing my eyes. Just the thought of trying to deal with my parents, much as I loved them, while trying to clean up this genetic mess was exhausting. I groaned.

 

By the time we pulled into the garage, I was exhausted from running in mental circles for so long. Even getting out of the car seemed like an effort.

 

Jjong’s look was sympathetic as he helped me up. “You’re pale. Nap time?”

 

“You know what I’d actually like?”

 

“Anything.”

 

“I’d like to go up to the roof and nap on one of the loungers in the shade.”

 

“That sounds like an excellent idea. Let’s go.”

 

I was very nearly one continuous yawn by the time we got off the elevator and climbed the one flight up to the terrace. I was so tired, in fact, I didn’t notice Kibum sprawled across one of the chairs until Jjong was helping me sit down. But I looked up, saw him, and froze. I hadn’t seen him since we’d broken the news. I hadn’t seen any of them. His face was blank, closed off. Cold and remote.

 

“Hi,” I said softly, trying not to sound afraid.

 

Jjong hadn’t seen him, either, so concentrated had he been on me. He turned, and went still.

 

Kibum stared at me a moment, blankly, then drew in a breath, shaking his head and sitting up. “I’m sorry, noona. I’m a thousand miles away. How are you? How are you feeling?”

 

I felt Jonghyun relax beside me. I knew how he felt. “I’m okay. We went to a birthing center to look around. It was really nice. I’m just so, so damned tired now.”

 

Kibum nodded slowly. “I can imagine. You think you’ll go with this place, or are you going to look around more?”

 

I shrugged, moving my legs over as Jjong sat on the edge of the lounger beside me. “I want to see a few more, but they’re going to have to be pretty amazing to beat this place.”

 

“I’m glad. You have enough to worry about.” He sounded slightly bitter, but the look in his eyes clearly said the bitterness wasn’t aimed at me. Still, part of me cringed.

 

“Kibum,” I said softly, “I don’t know what happened, but I’m sorry.”

 

His eyes widened, and he looked for a moment as if he were groping for words. But after a long moment, he closed his mouth again and looked away. “It was almost two years ago. But thank you.”

 

“She’s not over it.”

 

His voice was quiet. “No.”

 

Jjong’s fingers curled tighter around mine. He let out a slow breath. “Kibum,” he said. “I think we need your help.”

 

Kibum frowned. “Yeah? What do you need?”

 

“Testing. And we need it done quietly. And fast.”

 

“As soon as I hit eight weeks,” I added. “I can’t…I don’t want any of us to have to wait any longer than we have to.”

 

There were memories inside his head, and they looked like they hurt him. I bit my lip, not knowing what to say. But after a moment, he looked at us both and nodded, jerkily.

 

“Yeah,” he said. “I know a guy.”


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Every damned day was a slog. I felt like I had built this skeleton of lies, and was trying to throw skin over it everywhere to make it look real. Some days, I tried to cope by not thinking about it or pretending it simply wasn’t happening. But that never really works. Not 100%. You can’t forget something looming over you like a sky full of hematite clouds, just waiting to throw chaos down on you.

Trying to assure Minhyuk and Eunhee that I was fine while simultaneously arranging multiple doctors’ visits was a feat. There were certain perks to being the boss, yes, but I’d never been hands-off in any aspect of the book store, and I couldn’t start disappearing over and over again now without it being highly suspicious. I wound up having to schedule appointments before and after my shifts at the store, and on my days off, which led to some really long weeks, which led to my wanting to crawl under my desk and sleep on an hourly basis. 

 

Eunhee, trying to be helpful as ever, took to bringing me fresh tea, which led to my surreptitiously and hastily having to look up caffeine content and suggested limits for pregnant women. Sometimes, I drank the tea. Sometimes, it went down the bathroom drain when no one was looking. But I always made sure to thank her, and tried to at least look more alert. I was hysterically glad I didn’t seem to be getting morning sickness— I have no idea on earth how I would have bluffed my way through that.

 

Jjong did as much as he could to help: driving me in in the mornings, picking me up, making sure there was a good dinner when I got home, making me lunch and snacks to take to work. I thanked G-d for him every morning when I had to drag myself out of bed to get to the store, and every night as I fell back in, exhausted. Common wisdom in Korea was that women should quit their jobs and stay at home like good housewives immediately on becoming pregnant; I found the concept anathema, and he supported me entirely. 

 

Which wasn’t to say he didn’t urge me constantly to take it easy, to let my intrepid assistant managers do more, to nap when I was home, to rest, rest, rest. I knew he was coming from the very best place, but it still frustrated me. I had never liked being inactive, but my body was betraying me: he didn’t need to keep reminding me to nap, because I all too often fell asleep on the couch within minutes of getting home. More than once, he had to carry me to the bathroom and stand me up so I could brush my teeth, wash my face, take my meds and such. It would have been maddening, but he made sure to make me giggle as often as possible.

 

My doctor and I had long talks about what meds I could continue taking during pregnancy, and which I should taper off. Most of them were fine, thankfully. And she assured me that the exhaustion was perfectly normal for plenty of women, and would probably stop by the time I hit my second trimester. Ruefully, she had to admit it might hit me again for the third. Oh, boy. I couldn’t wait for that.

 

I found myself slightly nervous on my first visits to the birth center, though, and was incredibly glad Jjong insisted on coming with me. I knew it was ridiculous, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that somehow, some way, they’d know that we didn’t know who the father was. That they’d judge me. 

 

The awful truth was, I think, that I was fairly busy judging myself.

 

I tried not to. I tried to remind myself that everyone in the room had been a willing participant, and that if my reproductive system hadn’t chosen that week to get itself in gear, that night would have stood as a somewhat kinky and incredibly hot event to fondly remember. Possibly even the start of some very interesting new recreational activities for some of us. But now…now it had become the elephant in the room it hadn’t been over cookies and tea at Eunji’s table. Now it was there— my condition was there— in every meeting in the hall or conversation in the elevator. It was there when Jisoo brought me bowls of seaweed or pumpkin soup, or when Eunji stopped up to see if I needed anything. And it was there when Jinki couldn’t quite meet my eyes,  or when Minho’s mouth tightened. It was in the faint trace of wonder and fear in Taemin’s eyes, and the flashes of searing pain in Kibum’s.

 

They tried. G-d love them all, they tried. But the common thread in all of their looks was obvious: was it their child? What if it were? What would we do?

 

It was hard to be around them. I loved Jinki and Minho and Kibum and Taemin as much as if they'd been my own blood family. I loved them and I trusted them, but I was terrified of what would happen to all of us if the collection of rapidly-dividing cells inside me was half one of theirs. I couldn't begin to imagine Taeminnie as a father, much less a co-parent. Jisoo would very calmly accept a new child in her world, and would love anything even partly her husband's. Eunji seemed calm enough now, but I knew her temper, and I dreaded thinking what might come out if she was faced with a child Minho had fathered with someone else. And Clara and Silver...Silver would love any child, anywhere, in his quiet way, but Clara...there was so much trauma there. Such a deep wound none of us had even known was there, and now it was obviously freshly bleeding. Whatever had happened, Kibum was bleeding, too. I couldn't stop feeling like every time he saw me, a knife was twisting. Some days, I was afraid to go outside of the flat. Some days, I felt like the spectre at the feast. 

 

No wonder I was so exhausted.

 

Jisoo and Eunji frequently stressed to me the importance of keeping warm. Always, always, I was to be as warm as possible. Thank G-d, being nearly August now, that wasn’t difficult, but they took it to a very Korean extreme. On my days off, or after work, I loved to go to the roof and lie on a lounger under one of the huge shade sails, quietly roasting myself alive. Once they discovered this, they would check up on me (when Jjong couldn’t be by my side) and offer me lukewarm drinks and light blankets and sunscreen. They laughed just a little about it, but they insisted that I shouldn’t drink anything very cold, or the baby might catch a chill. And I should make sure I myself was always warm, for the same reason. They were both very modern, scientific women, but this baby thing brought out the old wives in all of us.

 

I was comforted. I really was. I hadn’t told my parents yet, clinging still to the idea that it was fine to keep everything quiet until the end of my first trimester. And I missed my mother fiercely, even though I tried to call home once a week or so as normal. We talked about the shop, we talked about politics, we talked about how well my dad was doing and when they might visit. And when she asked how I was doing, I always smiled and said everything was fine. It hurt.

 

And while Eunji and Jisoo were protective and solicitous and unerringly helpful, I just couldn’t stop being vaguely, faintly uneasy around them. And if I was slightly unsettled around them, it was nothing to Jjong’s brothers.

 

I was sitting at Jisoo’s table, eyeing another bowl of seaweed soup. 

 

“I know it’s good for milk production, but, er…isn’t it a bit soon for that?”

 

She shook her head, putting down a bowl of ravioli in front of Soohyun and  a dish of oatmeal in front of Chanhyuk, to the delight of the former and bemusement of the latter. With a small smile, she handed me a yellow plastic baby spoon and gestured to her son, who giggled gummily at me.

 

“No time like the present, right?” I snorted.

 

“You’ve fed him before. You’re just practising. Soohyun, kitty, with your fork, not your fingers.”

 

“I want my chopsticks!” she said, quite firmly.

 

Jisoo cocked her head. “You said you wanted a fork tonight.”

 

“That was before I had to eat,” her daughter replied with a put-upon sigh.

 

Jisoo and I exchanged a look. “I suppose you can’t argue with her logic,” I mused.

 

“Such as it is,” Jisoo said, rising to get chopsticks from a drawer.

 

Chanhyuk was generally a very good eater, and quite in the mood for food. He also had the same habit I’d had in my youth: he hummed if he liked what he was eating. We were working up quite a duet in a modern, completely atonal style when the lock beeped, and Daddy was home.

 

Soohyun shot out of her chair as if it’d been an ejector seat, launching herself into Jinki’s arms and beginning an immediate patter about her day. He nodded enthusiastically where appropriate, looked shocked or surprised as the moment required, and kissed her soundly on the top of her head, all while dropping a messenger bag on the bench by the front door, slipping off his shoes, and coming into the dining room. I greeted him cheerfully as he bent to kiss his wife and his son, and he smiled back, asking how I was feeling.

 

I shrugged. “Everyone’s trying to broil me, I think. Maybe sauté. No, Chanhyukkie: mouth, not nose.”

 

“Ah, yeah. Are you sure you’re keeping warm enough?”

 

I rolled my eyes and half-laughed, half-groaned. “I promise, yes, I absolutely _swear_ there is not the least chance of my catching even a ghost of a chill.”

 

I smiled up at him, and suddenly his face flushed, and he turned away, covering by replacing Soohyun in front of her dinner, then asking Jisoo if there was more ravioli as he made his way into the kitchen. She hadn’t missed it, but she said nothing, watching him a moment, then visibly settling her attention back on Soohyun with a calm smile and a wordless, comforting pat on my arm.

 

"It's not you," she said softly. 

 

I busied myself with Chanhyuk and his oatmeal, and discovered I’d lied to Jinki: I could most definitely feel a chill.

 

 

 

 

Jjong was comforting, but the reality of the whole mess was starting to settle in my mind into distinct questions about how we were going to handle the situation, practically speaking. If the best-case scenario came through, great. We would all laugh about it, and try desperately to forget it had ever happened. We’d proceed normally, and with luck, by the time I was waddling around like Baba Yaga’s hut, we’d all be back to normal.

 

But if the test Kibum was going to arrange for us showed something else…I had no idea what we would do. Co-parent? Lie to everyone outside our building? Come clean and wave it off as no big deal? Jjong and I tentatively, haltingly tried talking about it, sitting on the sofa in our living room, holding each other, but got nowhere. There seemed to be no contingency plans that made any sense at all, and trying to sketch one in the air seemed surreal and faintly ridiculous. Not to mention even thinking about potential futures caught my heart up in my throat as I tried to picture Jjong raising a child that wasn’t his, or watching one of his brothers be a father to a baby I birthed, that he’d wanted so much. He would, without question, totally and completely love any child regardless of its DNA, and we would adjust and move on, because he was incapable of anything else, but I knew, oh, I knew he wanted this child to be ours. More than once, I nearly broke down crying. More than once, he couldn’t stop himself. Tears rolling down his face made me want to throw myself at his feet and beg forgiveness, but I didn’t know what for. I just knew it burned inside me to see him hurting, and know there was nothing I could do. Nothing anyone could do. We just all had to wait.

 

Every damned day was a slog. I felt like I had built this skeleton of lies, and was trying to throw skin over it everywhere to make it look real. Some days, I tried to cope by not thinking about it or pretending it simply wasn’t happening. But that never really works. Not 100%. You can’t forget something looming over you like a sky full of hematite clouds, just waiting to throw chaos down on you. At times, I tried to convince myself I couldn’t possibly have conceived the night of the party, and it simply _had_ to be that night a few days later with Jjong. That there was no way the universe could be so cruel. Then I remembered the pain in Clara’s eyes, and in Kibum’s, and almost had to laugh, though bitterly. Yes, the universe really fucking could be that unfair. 

 

I tried hard as I could not to slut-shame myself, to see this as some kind of punishment for what had, at the time, been some amazing wish-fulfillment and, let’s be honest, some really hot sex. But the exhaustion and the fear and the stress preyed on me, and there were moments I thought I never, ever wanted to have sex again. 

 

I don’t know— maybe it might have helped us, Jjong and I. Maybe we needed to concentrate more on each other and less on what-ifs, but G-d, all I could see was hurt when I looked at him, and I didn’t know what to do about it. There were issues in his past I knew had to be coming up, but he would never talk about them, and I suspected that could have been part of the pain filling him now. I didn’t know if it was real or if I was projecting, but I knew he wouldn’t tell me if it was real, because he wouldn’t want to hurt me. So we were stuck going around and around. And day by day, I grew more and more nervous about that, too: second-guessing myself about him, when I’d been happy and secure and calm with him since the day I’d met him six years ago.

 

And who could I talk to about any of it? Jisoo? Eunji? Clara? Not bloody likely. Certainly not any of the boys. And no one outside of the building. Not even my brother. Christ. I’d read that in the second trimester, the developing fetus put pressure on lungs and diaphragm, but G-d, it was already getting so hard to breathe sometimes.

 

I started walking again.

 

I didn't take tea with me, now. The heat and humidity of a Seoul summer rendered such an anchor unnecessary. For health’s sake, though, I often bought an iced drink at a tiny cafe down the street from the apartment, knowing that no one would give me admonishing looks for drinking something cold until the pregnancy was visible. And then I walked. Just walked. 

 

People in Seoul move so quickly. Everyone has energy and purpose and somewhere to be. At least, the women. Men, I found, hit a certain age, and then slowed down, walking along the streets with their hands clasped behind their backs like Joseon magistrates contemplating cases. Sometimes, they would smile at me, sometimes just stare, but always thinking. Always looking as if they were dividing tax rolls or figuring crop income. The women…well, never get in the way of a determined ahjumma with her perm, her sun visor, and her capri pants. Crossing an ahjumma with an agenda is a recipe for an elbow in the ribs.

 

But I kept to the inner edge of the sidewalks, out of people’s way. I walked slowly, letting everyone else flow around me. I pulled into myself, disappearing in plain sight, watching the sky deepen as the late summer dusk fell. There were kids in beautiful, bright hanbok strolling together, perfect down to their ankles, where sneakers poked through. I’d never worn hanbok— it seemed too culturally appropriative to me, the American, but I supposed at this point, no one would mind. I’d been living here, working here, running a business here. Speaking Korean. Living with a Korean mate. Carrying a half-Korean child— even if I didn’t know whose. I snorted grimly. That little detail would not endear me to a highly conservative public, no matter what I wore.

 

Would life have been easier for Jjong if he’d found a Korean woman to settle down with? I knew he’d come out of the womb dedicated to music, but was I what he pictured when he planned his life as a little boy? Personally, I’d always known I would travel, and live far from home, though I wouldn’t have actually written a K-pop star into my life when I was a kid. Well. Then again, maybe I would have. But he’d also have had a horse farm, and been a brilliant surgeon in his spare time. I had always been ambitious. Happily for me Jonghyun was real, and perfect without the horses or the surgery. I was lucky.

 

But what kind of wish fulfillment had I been for him? 

 

I pulled a piece of ice from my cup and shattered it between my teeth. This was stupid and pointless. Never, ever had he even once indicated in the slightest that he wasn’t happy in the relationship, and trying to convince myself otherwise was moronic. Over these now six-plus years, he’d told me how much he loved me and loved being with me more times than I was even capable of counting. The only other thing that he had ever wanted was a child of his own. 

 

I tried to think of the first time he’d ever brought it up, and I couldn’t. I didn’t remember a time I hadn’t known. Perhaps the first time I’d started thinking about it myself was, oh, a year and a half into our relationship, when we’d gone to spend a weekend with his mother and sister at a very lovely vacation villa he’d rented. I’d watched them all together, and I could feel how close-knit the three of them were. Their bond was tangible, and beautiful. His sister Sodam was fluent in English, with an adorable Kiwi lilt to her accent, and she made absolutely sure to translate for me when they all got to talking at once, far faster than my Korean at the time could handle.

 

She was newly-married, then, but her husband had a big project at work and couldn’t join us. But she was waxing rhapsodic about him late one lazy evening around the villa’s perfect little pool, where the deep blue of its tiles matched the deep blue of the sky as it chased down the last of the sunset. 

 

“ _He’s_ going to be a _good_ father,” she said firmly, and there was a moment where the three of them looked at each other, and I felt something pass between them that I couldn’t translate. Jjong was silent a moment, and then he nodded decisively. 

 

“Of course he will, noona,” he said, just as firmly.

 

She looked at him with nearly a glare. “And so will you, Jjong-ah. Don’t worry so much. You’re a good person. You’ll be a good father.”

 

“Of course he will,” his mother said softly. “Of course.”

 

I had thought he would laugh it off, but he just looked back at them both solemnly for a moment, then nodded. And changed the subject. 

 

I had never pushed him. I had never pursued the demons I knew he buried. He never spoke about it. But I knew, beyond question, he saw having a child of his own, and raising that child with love and respect and care, as a kind of human redemption. A way to balance the Universe. And oh, G-d, what if we’d fucked that up?

 

My phone beeped at me from my pocket, and I slid the screen open to find a text from Kibum.

 

“Arrangements made,” it said. “Ready when you are.”

 

I wasn’t usually the type, but just for a moment, I closed my eyes and prayed.


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> But humans are strange and possessive animals, and while we can and do master our possessiveness, and our lapses in logic, and our primal natures, those feelings are still there. They still have to be dealt with.

No one would think it was weird I was marking the calendar in my office.

 

Everyone would assume the dates I checked off so carefully, one by one, were countdowns: I did that. Countdowns to book releases, invoices, all sorts of things. Had I been able to be open, they would have assumed I was counting down to the first ultrasound, the gender reveal, all sorts of things. 

 

No one had to know I was counting down the path out of this horrible limbo.

 

As days wore on, and the first shock faded, Jjong and I both moved to a sort of numb resignation. Maybe some kind of perspective. We weren’t being told, after all, whether the fetus was viable or not— or so we hoped. We were simply being told if the child I carried was both of ours or not. And we knew, materially, it didn’t change too much: we wanted a baby, and we would have a baby. And as strong as their bond was, he and his brothers would manage. They would survive this situation. 

 

Probably.

 

If something had happened to, say, Minho, we would all have stepped in to help Eunji with Mina. The same for Soohyun and Chanhyuk. We would all always be there for each other, and we would always take care of each other.

 

But humans are strange and possessive animals, and while we can and do master our possessiveness, and our lapses in logic, and our primal natures, those feelings are still there. They still have to be dealt with.

 

Blame the hormones, but I got it into my head that I wouldn’t be able to handle seeing the first images of my uterine contents and keep any kind of composure if I didn’t know the truth. I was terrified of…I couldn’t name it. Most people cried, if I was to believe all the TV I’d seen, but I seemed to be afraid of the wrong kind of crying. Angry? Ashamed? I didn’t know. And I didn’t want to go through it lying on a table in front of a complete stranger, with the ostensible father standing right there. 

 

So I counted. 

 

I was either six or seven weeks along, now. It would be at least one week until the blood test could be done, and possibly two. The birth center wanted my first ultrasound at the same time. Twisting my rings on my fingers, I knocked on Kibum’s door one evening, Jjong behind me, to set the meeting with his friend. It felt clandestine and tense. It felt wrong.

 

It felt worse when Clara answered the door.

 

She and I hadn't spoken much since the night she’d snapped at me. I’d wanted to say something to her, though I didn't know what. But as exhausted as I’d been, even the thought of trying to get through her anger and defensiveness felt like climbing a mountain on hands and knees. I'd asked Kibum if she were okay. He had given a complicated shrug and left it at that. Now I could see for myself: the answer was no. She was not.

 

I reminded myself of what might be behind that anger. “Hey. How are you?”

 

She shrugged. “It’s whatever. Come in.” And she turned away.

 

Silver got up off the sofa and followed her as she walked straight out of the room, nodding to us in his calm, gentle way. I knew— yet again— it was petty and mean to be annoyed or angered by her, and even more fruitless to be angry with myself for it. But I sighed anyway. 

 

Kibum came out of the kitchen, looking after her. “Guess you’re not here to play godori,” he said, offhand.

 

“I didn't bring my deck, no,” Jjong said. 

 

“Mm. Have a seat. I’ll bring you something to drink.” He turned back to the kitchen, his spine like a knife.

 

“Ki,” I said softly.

 

He looked into my eyes, searching for something. I didn’t know what, but my heart seemed to curl in on itself, anyway.

 

“Just tell me,” he said quietly, after a moment. “If it’s not his. If it’s not his, will you keep it?”

 

Something cracked painfully inside my ribs. I wanted to cry so much, but I pushed it back. “Yes, Ki. We will. I promise.”

 

He snorted bitterly. “Better luck to you, then,” he whispered, and walked into the kitchen.

 

I gulped down air, biting my lip hard and putting my hands over my mouth. Jjong slid a hand down my arm, and went after Kibum.

 

_It’s not fair_ , part of me howled. But about what, I didn’t know. Not fair that they hadn’t had that child? Not fair that they couldn’t, or wouldn’t, or just didn’t, but I was? I didn’t know. I couldn’t tell. And the hormones were making everything worse. Turning myself into a weeping mess right now would be downright cruel. I edged closer to the door, peeking around the edge. Kibum stood at the sink, hands curled to fists over the edge, his head dropped between his shoulders. Jjong stood behind him and to the side, his forehead resting on Ki’s shoulder, and one hand stroking down Ki’s back. I took myself to the sofa, and curled up tight.

 

It took a long few minutes until they came out, Kibum holding a glass of my favourite lemon tea, just water for him and Jjong.

 

“You’re ready to make your appointment, I guess?” he said with no preamble.

 

Jonghyun nodded. “It’s almost time. We want it done before we go for the first ultrasound.”

 

“You’re far enough along, then?”

 

I nodded. “Maybe. We think. I’m around seven weeks. Maybe six. We…if we knew, we wouldn’t need….”

 

He shrugged. “Yeah. I can get you in.”

 

“How long will it take to know?” Jjong asked, running his thumb over my knuckles.

 

Kibum’s mouth twisted. “He’s doing this completely on the side, so it’s in his best interest to get it done fast. Same day. He says he can do it, so I assume he can.”

 

“You never….” I let it trail off. Fuck. It was stupid to ask. “I’m sorry.”

 

He shook his head. “She decided right away she…you know. She couldn’t. So it wasn’t an issue.”

 

I bit my lip again, hard. No crying. “I’m sorry,” I just said again.

 

He shrugged, but it was nowhere near casual. “Not much point in second-guessing. It was her body. Her choice.  We could have managed it now, but then…. It wasn’t the right time, so.”

 

“I know.” I paused. “When…when this happens, if it’s not too much, I…I want you all with us. No matter who…the father is, all of us are in this together.” My chest was still tight. “I love you, Ki.”

 

His eyes were so red, and tears welled up and finally broke out, rolling down his angular face. I all but grabbed him as his head dropped again, and pulled him in tight. Jjong swiftly moved to his other side, and we held him tight between us. He made no noise, and was so very still, but he held himself close to the both of us for a long time, until his shoulders finally relaxed. 

 

He sat up, and I brushed his hair back from his wet face, wiping the tears off his skin.

 

“We both love you, Kibum,” Jjong whispered, his lips against the younger man’s temple. 

 

Kibum nodded. “I love you both, as well,” he said softly, his voice cracked.

 

Then he sniffed and sat back, straightening his shoulders. “Anyway. Yeah. It’ll take him a few hours. And then you’ll know.”

 

“And then we’ll get the ultrasound,” Jjong murmured, looking at me.

 

I nodded, still keeping a hand on Kibum’s back, as Jjong did. “I guess after that, there’s no point in waiting.”

 

Jjong took a breath, let it out slowly. “If it’s not me, we’re all going to need to go in, you know.”

 

Kibum nodded. “We already talked about it the other night. We’ll do it quietly, one at a time. After hours. I’ll go first, Minho second. So on.”

 

“You made a schedule?” I asked, morbidly amused.

 

He shrugged. “Habit.”

 

I sighed, kissing his forehead. “Of course.”

 

“Two weeks, then,” he said. “You’ll both go in. I’ll give you the address. He said it’ll take about four hours.”

 

“We don’t need to wait there, do we?”” Jjong asked.

 

“No. It’s better if you don’t. He’ll call me here— he has my number.”

 

“He…I guess he knows…?”

 

“Who you are?” Kibum smirked. “Yeah. That cat’s out of the bag. Don’t worry. He doesn’t care. He may not have the best bedside manner, but that’s fine. He doesn’t gossip. He won’t tell anyone who you are because he doesn’t care who you are. It’s all science to him, and that’s all he cares about. You’re safe.”

 

“Safe.” Jjong shook his head wryly. “We can but hope.”

 

 

 

 

Fourteen days. 

 

So I checked them off surreptitiously on the calendar by my desk at work, one by one, with a blood-red felt-tip. I found myself in a strange state in my head: the constant flux of emotions and hormones soaked my brain like a thick, wet cloud, and I never quite felt like I was touching the ground. Or anything else. I didn't want to go out, I didn't want to talk to my friends, I didn't want to think. There was a strange, almost fatalistic energy running through me that seemed somehow to counter the exhaustion ever so slightly—at least in my head, if not in my body. It was a disconcerting stasis.

 

Jonghyun seemed to understand— or at least to accept my unwanted limbo even if he didn't get it. We still couldn't seem to talk much about it, but we at least agreed that we would have to— extensively— once we had an answer. Until then, though, we couldn't even know how we’d feel. So we spent our evenings quietly together, watching TV, reading, just being near each other. I didn’t want him too far away, and I often reached out just to touch him and reassure myself he was still there. He often did the same thing, like we were tiny animals nesting together, comforting each other by contact. We just concentrated on keeping ourselves in the moment, and calm. Not always successfully.

 

Everyone else…well, it was obvious no one else was enjoying the waiting so much, either. Clara took a gig in Thailand and Cambodia, so she’d be gone for almost a week. Kibum was irritable and prone to excessive snark even for him— he was plainly worried about her, and the extra stress wasn't helping. Silver was working on an installation somewhere in Hongdae, but stayed close when he was home, keeping his more emotional partner as grounded as he was able.

 

Jisoo continued to bring me soup and look after me, and her gentleness was so comforting— she was a few years younger than I, but her mothering vibes were pretty ageless, especially since I was aching to tell my own mom everything, but couldn't yet. She always seemed to know when I needed her most, too, and would sometimes just sit beside us on the couch as Jjong and I huddled, rubbing my feet and telling me stories of her own pregnancies. I realised very quickly she was quite subtly gifting me with a wealth of information on not just what to expect, but what to specifically expect in Korea, and I squirreled her informational acorns away diligently, sometimes writing them down later. There were stipends to all new mothers, for example, which we wouldn't need, but also local community centers with baby play dates that were the best way of socialising babies and meeting other new moms in the area, and that did interest me. One day, when all this was over, and we were just a normal family— as much as we could be with Jjong’s line of work— our kid would want friends to visit and play with. One day. 

 

She was also one of the only people I could talk to on the rare occasions the fog lifted from my head enough for me to want to talk, especially if Jonghyun couldn’t be with me. I didn’t know if he'd mentioned it to her or if her sixth sense told her, but one night, he had a radio show guest hosting gig, and wouldn’t be home until late. I found myself anxious with the apartment empty, and I paced past the windows, feeling trapped, feeling restless, but not wanting to go outside even to the roof. I called out “Come in!” at the knock on the door, and she half smiled to see me at the windows.

 

“I didn’t get to the caged-tiger stage until the day before Soohyun was born,” she said, gently amused.

 

I sighed, my mouth twisting. “It does sort of feel like that.”

 

“Have you eaten?”

 

At that, I had to fully smile. “I have. Promise. Jjong made dinner this morning, actually, while I was at work. And tomorrow’s lunch.”

 

“That’s sweet of him.”

 

“As always,” I agreed.

 

“When will he be home? And would you like tea?”

 

I opened my mouth to protest, but then realised tea sounded very good. “I would, actually,” I nodded meekly. 

 

“Sit down.” And she moved to my kitchen smoothly.

 

We sat on the couch later, and I watched the ripples in my mug while Jisoo watched me.

 

“At least pacing gets you some exercise,” she remarked, offhand, stirring sugar into her Earl Grey.

 

I sighed. “At least. I just can’t seem to settle anywhere. I’m mostly fine at work, but…it’s. You know.”

 

“Too many thoughts in your head.”

 

I nodded. “Far too many. About, you know, this,” I gestured vaguely at my midsection, “but also….” I groped for words that didn’t come.

 

“Everyone will adapt, you know,” she said softly. “It’s a shock now, but everyone will adapt. We’re all family.”

 

I bit my lip. “Jinki….”

 

She paused. “Yes,” she said slowly. “I know. But it’s not really himself he’s thinking of.”

 

I cocked my head. “What do you mean?”

 

She considered her words. “You know that it’s important to him to take care of everyone?”

 

“He doesn’t think I— I mean, he’s not blaming himself?”

 

“No,” she said slowly. “And yes. I don’t think he regrets what he…what _we_ did, but he’s known Jonghyun for most of their lives, now. He knows what his childhood was like, and how he’s always wanted a child of his own. Jonghyun always used to say he’d do better than his own father had. And now Jinki worries now we’ve taken that chance away from him. He feels responsible, because he's the leader.”

 

“Jisoo, no! It’s not— he couldn’t have— _no_!” I stared at her in horror, my heart banging on the bottom of my stomach and my eyes prickling.

 

She put a hand on my arm. “I know. And he knows. And he will get over it. You must not worry about this. I promise you: he’ll start thinking again like a grown-up, and he’ll be fine. And he’ll love your child no matter who the father is, as you and Jonghyun will. And he’ll support all of you. I promise. If I thought he wouldn’t get past this, I would never tell you about it. This is just where he is now, and what he’s working through. When I said the other night that it isn’t you, it isn’t.”

 

“W-what do I do?” I said, hearing my voice crack and cursing my hormones yet again. “Oh, G-d, I’m such a drama queen— I’m sorry….”

 

She squeezed my arm. “You do nothing. You take care of yourself, and you take care of that baby.” She smiled warmly. “I’ve lived with Jinki a long time. I know how his mind works. He’ll get his head on straight and be back to supporting you both soon. He loves you both very much.”

 

I rubbed a couple of tears away, trying hard to stop them. “I love you both, too. I’m—“

 

“Shhh,” she petted my hair. “You don’t apologise any more. You’re going to have a baby, and that’s what’s important. You don’t apologise for that. All right?”

 

I took a few deep breaths, nodding in agreement but feeling lost and small. “I’ll try.”

 

“Good. I know it’s upsetting to hear someone is unhappy. But he’ll get over it. You will, too.”

 

I tried to laugh. “Get over him getting over it?”

 

Jisoo’s smile was comforting. “Indeed. Now I’ll clear this up. You get ready for bed, all right? It’s late, and you need all the sleep you can get.”

 

I leaned forward and hugged her quickly. "Thank you so much, Jisoo.”

 

She kissed my cheek.

 

“You’re going to have a beautiful baby. You just remember that. Everything else is details.”

 

 

 

 

Nine days. 

 

I’d taken to running out at lunch and hiding at the nap cafe a few blocks from the shop. So it wasn’t exactly getting easier, but if nothing else, I was learning to manage things. 

 

But Minhyuk and Eunhee were suspicious, I could tell. I usually had a good memory, but between the tiredness and the strain and the constant worry, I was letting things slip. There were more than a few times they both asked me about calls I’d forgotten to make, or orders I could have sworn I’d placed, but hadn’t.

 

Minhyuk finally looked at me and asked, “You okay? You still sick or something?”

 

I tried to bite back the yawn threatening to break my jaws open, and failed miserably. “Yeah, just a little tired, still.”

 

“Did they ever figure out why you hit the floor at your class?” 

 

I felt like his eyes were prodding through my brain, looking for the truth. I shrugged, shuffling back through some papers on my desk, looking for my water bottle. When had I let my office get so messy? “They weren’t sure. Probably something to do with the heat from the furnace. They said I’ll be fine, though. Not to worry.”

 

“Mm.”

 

I flicked a glance at him: he was skeptical. I set my jaw: I hated lying to my best employees. 

 

“You still going?” he asked, casually.

 

“Going?” I looked up, blankly.

 

“To that class. The glassblowing.”

 

“Oh, uh…I haven’t decided. I’ve missed a class now— or…two. Something. I don’t know.” I did need a distractions, though. If I was careful, and didn’t stand too close to the furnace when it opened, maybe I could…wait, “What?”

 

Minhyuk was frowning, now, not bothering to hide it. “I said, ’it’s behind you.’”

 

“What is?”

 

“Your water. You sure you’re okay?”

 

My hands stilled in the layers of papers. “I am. Promise.”

 

“Yeah,” he said, unconvinced. “Okay. Don’t forget I need to file the textbook order when you’re done with it.”

 

“I won’t—“ I was nearly snapping, and that was bad. Take a breath. “Thank you. I won’t forget.”

 

He nodded, and went back out on the floor. I scrubbed at my hair, swiveling around to reach the bottle that was, of course, exactly where I’d left it on the credenza behind me. Fucking hell. 

 

I pulled out a mini legal pad and, across the top, wrote “Don’t forget!,” then numbered a list. This was going to have to happen, much as I hated lists. I couldn’t afford any stress I could avoid. There was too much already. 

 

I looked at the calendar, at the red marks. Nine more days until some kind of answer. Jesus Christ.

 

 

 

 

Behind the flats, there was a small park, and in that park, a small playground. The streets around it were narrow, so you really had to know it was there to frequent it. Neighbourhood kids filled it during the day, climbing the jungle gym and screaming for halmoni. But in the evenings, it was usually empty. 

 

I was hot, tired, and cranky, and I didn’t want to deal with anyone. Not even Jjong, right now. It had been three days since Minhyuk had cornered me, and it was clear my non-answers had less hindered than helped his suspicions. Eunhee was eyeing me more openly, too, now, and it was maddening. They were concerned, and I knew it, but if I heard “You’re _sure_ you’re okay?” one more time, I was going to defenestrate someone. Fuck, if I could have been happy about what was going on, I would have enjoyed confounding them, but this? I hated being watched. I hated lying. I hated everything.

 

I took a bench under a low tree, walling myself in with greenery. It was dark, here, and quiet, and almost cool, which was all I wanted. Even the rooftop garden felt too open and bright. And I didn’t want to run into anyone. Not even Jonghyun— just for a few minutes. 

 

_What the fuck am I gonna do?_ It was just this endless loop in my head. I couldn’t think my way into calmness, and I couldn’t quite convince myself— not consistently— that everything was going to be okay. And there were thoughts in the back of my head when I got tired and scared, like I was now, that were dark and uncontrollable. If the test came back saying Minho or Taemin or Kibum or Jinki were the father of this child-to-be, there were demons in my brain that whispered _“How long will it be before he leaves you, then? He wants his own children. He’ll start over with someone else.”_ It was stupid— we could always try again now that we were both open to it, and it wasn’t as if we couldn’t afford more than one kid. And he wasn’t a monster— he’d still love this kid. But those horrible voices never stopped. _What if you just terminated the pregnancy if it’s not his?_ But that was even worse: How could I look at any of his brothers again if I did that? I was staunchly pro-choice, but…for me? This baby would still be mine. Now, at last, I wanted it. Fuck, I wanted it. And Jjong would accept it. He would. Wouldn’t he? Fuck, if only I could think clearly, without feeling like the sky was going to fall any second. Everything would be fine. Oh, G-d, it would be. We would all get through this. I slumped forward, elbows on knees and face in my hands. _If I hadn’t been such a slut— fuck it. No. Just fucking stop._

 

“Just fucking _stop!”_

 

Minho grabbed Eunji’s elbow and spun her around, arresting her furious pace across the open space of the playground from the side street beyond. They were less than fifteen feet from me, but I was back in the shadows, and they were too focussed on each other and their anger. 

 

She had a bag from the convenience store halfway down the block in her hand, and for a moment, I was sure she was going to swing whatever heavy object was in that bag right into Minho’s face. But she wrenched her arm out of his grip and fell back a step, hissing at him. “Really? That’s all you can fucking come up with? ‘We’ll figure it out’? What the _fuck_ , Minho? You’ve been putting me off for almost a year now, and dragging your G-d damned heels, and now— _now_ — you’re all ‘We’ll figure it out’?”

 

“What do you want me to say?” he raged back, keeping his volume tightly controlled in the dark. “What the fuck do you want me to say? What do you want me to do? This is completely out of my G-d damned hands. Do you get that? There is absolutely not a single fucking thing I can do about this so I don’t know why the fuck you’re angry at _me_ about it.”

 

I shrank back against the bench. I had never heard either of them like this. I had never even heard Minho curse, or Eunji raise her voice. And I didn’t need to be a genius to know what this was about. Oh, G-d. There was no way out of the corner without going past them. There was no further back I could go. I was as trapped there as if I’d been tied to the bench.

 

“A year!” Eunji spat. “A _year_ you’ve been saying ‘I don’t know’ like it’s some shitty mantra! Like you can’t even bother yourself to _think_ about it. Like you don’t even give a fuck that it matters to _me_. That it’s something _I_ want.”

 

“Are you the only one in this relationship? I’m not allowed to just not know?”

 

“You sure as fuck seem to know now.”

 

“So fucking what? So what if I didn’t know before but maybe I do now? I can’t change my G-d damned mind? Isn’t that what you wanted me to do in the first place? What the fuck do you want from me?”

 

“And what if it’s too late now?”

 

“Too late? What is _that_ supposed to mean?”

 

“What if it’s yours? What the fuck are we supposed to do then, Minho? _What if it’s yours?”_

 

I had shoved my hands so hard against my mouth I couldn’t breathe. I could feel the bench vibrating as my whole body shook. Oh, G-d, Oh, G-d, please no. No, please stop— don’t do this, don’t do this!

 

“That’s what it all comes down to, doesn’t it?” he shot back. “This isn’t about having another kid. This is about shit went south and you need someone to blame and it’s gonna be me. We were there _together_. We did that _together_.”

 

“ _I didn’t fuck her through a wall!_ ”

 

Eunji stepped back, her voice echoing back down from every building as she panted in red-faced rage. 

 

“No,” Minho responded quietly, but with no less anger. “But you were the one who told _me_ to go ahead and fuck her, so I guess we’re both gonna have to live with it now.”

 

“You can go to hell,” she hurled at him, her voice and face twisted in fury as she spun to leave him.

 

And saw me.

 

“Oh my G-d,” she breathed, her face going dead white and the bag slipping from her fingers to land with a shatter of glass on the sidewalk.

 


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Why, why, why did we all fucking think it was a good idea? Who else was fighting where I couldn’t see? What was Clara saying to Kibum? What was Taemin thinking? What was really going on with Jisoo and Jinki? What had I fucked up behind the scenes where I couldn’t see it?

I bolted.

 

I couldn’t have cared less where I was going, but I just took off. Shops and side streets flashed past in the dark, but I couldn’t see them for crying. I tried, I tried, to outrun the weight on my heart, on my lungs— the weight of their rage, my fear, everything. I loved them so much and the thought of coming between them was a wild, shaking terror inside me. _WhathaveIdonewhathaveIdonewhathaveIdone_ over and over in my head like a scream— with no possible answer.

 

I couldn’t run for long. There wasn’t enough air in the world, and my body was so drained. A tiny, dark side street opened beside me, and an orange glow halfway up spilled out across the asphalt. I turned towards it, and found an open courtyard of a modern Buddhist temple, strung with prayer lanterns. Three huge golden statues stood along one side, calm and non-judgmental. There was no one else there.

 

I sank down on the stone bench at the back of the tree-ringed space, letting my purse slide to the flagstones. Again. Fucking again with the panic and the crying and the hysteria. G-d damn it, I am so fucking tired of this shit. And there is nothing I can do. Not a fucking thing. Minho and Eunji— I had seen them at odds with each other, I had seen them disagree, but a fight? A fight like this? I’d never even fucking imagined it. Ever. I had even seen Minho in stage fights and on film in a towering rage, and it had almost made me laugh, then, because it seemed so alien. His ridiculous giggle was almost constant. And Eunji was always snarky and arch but never vicious. Now they had fought, hard— and over what he had done with me. Why, why, why did we all fucking think it was a good idea? Who else was fighting where I couldn’t see? What was Clara saying to Kibum? What was Taemin thinking? What was really going on with Jisoo and Jinki? What had I fucked up behind the scenes where I couldn’t see it?

 

There were horrible voices suggesting horrible things in my head, and though I told myself over and over that they weren’t real, and everything would be fine, and I was just overreacting, it didn’t matter. None of it mattered. All I could think of was the pain surrounding me, and which I just couldn’t fucking fix. What was going to happen to us all? What had I done? And what would I do now? If this came between them and they all couldn’t handle it, and everyone went their separate ways, how was I supposed to handle the guilt? There would be no way— and if I left Jonghyun, where would I go? 

 

The thought of being without him set off yet more crying, and I rocked back and forth, trying to keep some semblance of control, somewhere, somehow, before I vomited, woke the neighbourhood, or both. I scrabbled for tissues in my purse, finding an old takeout napkin that worked just as well. But now I had to stop crying, the last logical part of my brain said, because I only had one. I sagged down— another bench in the dark, another fit of hopelessness. The wild sobbing stopped, but the tears didn’t.

 

And then there was a proper tissue in front of me, and Jjong was holding it. 

 

I wailed brokenly, and his arms came around me, and I clung so hard to him I could have broken him. But he held me just as tight, whispering my name, and that everything would be okay, he was with me, he loved me, everything would be okay. 

 

“Jjong, Jjong— they were fighting and— and I didn’t know what to do, and—“

 

“I know, jagi, I know. They told me.”

 

“They were so angry! I’ve never— they said— it was awful, Jjong!”

 

“Shhh, baby, I know, it’s okay.”

 

“But they can’t, they can’t— I love them and they—“

 

“Shhh, shhh, “ he stroked my spine. “They fight, baby. I know it doesn’t make sense, and you’ve never seen it, but they do. It’s okay. They fight and they make up and they never let it show. But they do, and it’s okay. They’re gonna be fine, I swear.”

 

“It's not, it’s not—!”

 

“Baby!” He pushed my hair back and tilted my chin up. “You know this isn’t you. You know this is all those chemicals in your brain and the stress talking. I swear to you: they’ll be fine. They fight— they’re not like us. But they love each other, and they get over it. Whatever you saw, I’ve seen worse.”

 

“Worse? Are they—“

 

“No, no— not now. A long time ago. Baby, I promise— it’s okay. They love you so much, and they’re not gonna break up over this.”

 

“But how do you know?” Even my brain was losing patience with me.

 

“Because I know Minho, and I know how his brain works, and I’ve watched him with Eunji for, what, four years now? He doesn’t think, and she kicks his ass until he does, and they make up. It’s why they work so well together.”

 

I frowned, going back over what they’d hurled at each other. “She…she did say….”

 

He stroked my cheek with the tissue. “Mm? Tell me, jagi.”

 

“She wants another kid. And he can’t make up his mind.”

 

He nodded. “I know.”  
  
“You do?”

 

“She has for a while. And he’s been putting it off. Putting off talking to her about it. So. That’s what happened.”

 

“What if it’s his?”

 

He sighed a little. “Then I guess we’re all going to have a very strange family.”

 

It didn’t stop me crying. I put my head on his shoulder. “What do I do?”

 

He put his arms around me, cupping my head gently in one hand. “You do nothing. You take care of yourself. You stay healthy and stop stressing and you have a beautiful baby and we’re all together with this.”

 

“But if she wants a baby and I have it….”

 

He shrugged. “Jagiya, no one’s going to know until it happens. You think any of us have been through this before?”

 

I shook my head and closed my eyes, breathing him in, trying to just stop for a minute. Stop panicking, stop being so afraid. “It’s not good for the baby,” I whispered.

 

“It’s not,” he agreed.

 

“Will they be okay?” I asked quietly. 

 

He hesitated, but at last, I felt him shrug. “In the long run, yes: they’ll work it out somehow. They always do. For now, we just have to leave them to it, love.”

 

I counted his heartbeats until my own matched them— panic fading to tiredness. With my eyes, I traced the orange-lit outlines of the statues, smiling down at us, calm and inscrutable. There were worse places to which I could have fled.

 

“Do you want to go home, jagi?” he asked softly. “It’s really late. Take a bath, go to bed?”

 

I nodded. “That sounds like a very good idea.” Now that the flood of hysteria had washed over me, I was so wrung out I wasn’t even sure I’d be able to walk back. Great. Just what I needed. Such an idiot.

 

My relief must have been obvious, then, when we walked to the mouth of the tiny street, and I saw Jjong’s car. I sighed, and he smiled at me, walking me around to open my door and fold me into my seat. By the time he was buckling his own seatbelt, I was getting hazy. 

 

Halfway home, I sat up suddenly, turning to him.

 

“Hmm?” He was stopped at a red light, and he glanced over, his smile soft.

 

“How the hell did you even find me? I’ve never been to that temple before.”

 

He chuckled. “Minho called me in a panic. And then— your tracker. Your phone? Remember?”

 

“Ahhh. I’d forgotten.” I’d turned the app on months ago, with his, for some event or another.

 

He touched my cheek, traced his thumb over the arch of my eyebrow. “But I’ll always find you when you need me, baby. Okay?”

 

I stared at him, the curve of his jaw and his sharp cheekbone. “You promise?” I whispered.

 

“I do.”

 

I closed my eyes as the light changed, and slept the rest of the way home.

 

 

 

 

I could have gone to them both and talked about it, but, as with talking to Clara, I was exhausted at the thought. It would require reserves I just felt like I didn’t have any more. Jisoo understood— the entire building had heard what had happened— and didn’t pressure me, but I felt like the walls were closing in, now. I didn’t want to see Kibum or Clara or Eunji or Minho or Jinki, which left Taemin, Silver, and Jisoo on my stress-free list, and of them, Silver was iffy, and Taemin was only there because I hadn’t talked to him yet.

 

So it was ironic that the maknae found me while I was sitting in my office, slumped at my desk, staring at the red mark I’d just put on my calendar and trying to gather the strength to get up and go home. It had been a long, fraught day. Again.

 

“Noona,” he said softly from the doorway.

 

I startled. “Jesus. I didn’t hear you come in.”

 

He glanced back towards the front door. “I crossed paths with Eunhee as she was locking up. She’s fine, I promise.”

 

I laughed stiffly. “She’s mad at me.”

 

He hooked a chair with one foot and dragged it a little closer, sinking onto it with his usual grace.  “You yell at her or something? Did she stock erotica in children’s lit again?”

 

“No, that was you.”

 

“It was only for a minute and I put it back,” he giggled.

 

I rolled my eyes. “Dude.”

 

“So why is she mad at you?”

 

I sat back in my chair, flipping my pen in my fingers. “She knows something’s going on, and she’s angry I won’t tell her. Minhyuk, too.”

 

“Oh.” Taemin’s joking mood faded.

 

“Yeah,” I sighed. “So. You know. One more in the column of people pissed off at me.”

 

“Noona. I’m not.”

 

I tried to smile. “You sure about that, Taeminnie? Cos the list is growing.”

 

“ _Noona_ ,” he said earnestly. “I’m not. I promise.” He leaned forward, elbows on my desk. “I’m…I’m a lot of things, believe me, yeah, but I’m not mad at you. Not you, not Kibum, not anyone. It’s not anyone’s fault— it just happened.”

 

“I wish Clara thought that. Amongst others.”

 

He bit his lip. “I don’t know that any of us could convince Clara of that. She’s just…always unhappy underneath it all. I wish she weren’t, but I don’t think there’s anything anyone can do about it. Anyone but her.”

 

“You are very wise, young man.”

 

“I’m neither, but thank you, noona.” He smiled shyly, looking very young indeed.

 

I tapped the pen against my lips. “So what brings you here at this hour?”

 

He huffed out a sigh. “Class is over, I’m tired, Jonghyun got tied up at the studio, and I think you’ve been avoiding me. So. I’m here to drive you home.”

 

I started. “Oh. Uh. Oh; I’m sorry; he did?; and no, I haven’t been. Uh— and thank you.”

 

He half-smiled. “You sure about that?”

 

“Which?” I stalled. But then he raised an eyebrow silently, and I sagged back in my chair, chewing on the pen, now. “I haven’t,” I said again, softly. “I just haven’t had…almost everyone is angry and scared, Taeminnie, and I’m in the middle of that. And it makes me feel a lot of things I can’t sort out at the moment, and it makes me angry. And exhausted. I just want…I want everyone to be happy. And on top of that, I want to be happy about starting a family with Jjong, and no one…it’s selfish of me, because I know everyone’s in crisis over this. I can’t be happy when everyone else is hurting. I just want some peace. And I can’t have it. I don’t have it, either.”

 

“You can’t have what you don’t have?”

 

“Yeah,” I snorted. “It’s complicated.”

 

My faint attempts at sarcasm didn’t derail him. He just looked at me with those enormous, liquid eyes, all sincerity, and said again, “I’m not angry. I’m not scared.”

 

I just stared. “How, Taemin? Just…how?”

 

He searched for words, but finally just gestured, his hands empty. “Because I don’t think it’s my child. That’s just not how my fate works. I can’t tell you anything more than that— it’s just what I believe.”

 

“Your fate?” I repeated blankly.

 

He nodded, his face drawn in and serious. “I don’t know how else to explain it. Just that. But it’s made me think, now— all of this has made me think, and I think…maybe it’s time to move on with my life and start planning for the future.”

 

My heart started pounding and my eyes widened, skin instantly clammy. “When you say ‘move on,’ Taemin….”

 

“Oh, no. No. Not like that. Breathe, noona! No, not like that! I mean, as in…as in…you all have families, now, and maybe it’s time for me to start thinking about that for myself.”

 

I sagged back in my chair, relief washing over me. “You want kids, you mean?”

 

His ears turned faintly pink. “I’d never logically, realistically thought much about it. I’ve always considered it in a vague way as just something that would happen at some point, but vague thinking isn’t actually going to do anything.”

 

“So now you’re thinking about thinking about it?”

 

He grinned, shy again. “Maybe.”

 

“Taemin, you will be a most excellent father. I have every last ounce of faith in you. Find a good woman— or find a pretty boy and adopt!”

 

His bark of laughter was bright. “Korea isn’t ready for that, yet.” 

 

I shook my head. “You post photos of you with a beautiful husband and a squishy-faced baby, and they’ll be ready for it fast.”

 

He giggled, now fully blushing. “I may like dicks every once in a while, I promise, but I really, really don’t want to marry one.”

 

I burst out laughing, and the pen fell from my hands to the floor, and as I grabbed for it, I managed to roll my chair over it. With a gurgle of frustration, I finally managed to grab it— only to have its mangled shell bleed all over my hands.

 

Taemin, still laughing, jumped up to dash to the bathroom for paper towels. “Don’t touch anything, noona!” he called back over his shoulder.

 

As I looked down at my hands, covered in brilliant red, I stopped laughing. The stains stood out wetly, graphically from my skin, stark and bloody and suddenly, viscerally chilling. Even discounting my hormonally-encouraged propensity for dramatic gestures, the sight made me shudder, calling up the beginnings of images in my head I refused to see.

 

Fate, Taemin had said. His fate had spoken to him. Maybe it was true, and he did know something I didn’t. But with my hands suddenly looking like I worked in an abattoir rather than a bookstore, I wondered what my own fate was trying to tell me.

 

 

 

 

 

I was bolstered more than I could have imagined by the simple knowledge that at least one person in our little commune wasn’t panicked. Unfortunately, I was also jealous, which sort of overwhelmed that momentary lift in spirits. I clung more tightly to Jjong at night, trying to shut out the uncertainty and recriminations in my head, but man, it was a mess in there. There was the now-constant fear and worry, both for myself and everyone around me, there was the hope and dread of the approaching-fast-but-not-fast-enough tests, and there was this small, resentful voice petulantly complaining that I should have been so happy, I should have been on top of the world, but here I was, utterly miserable and afraid and cowering. 

 

Curled in the dark against my lover, I stared out at nothing and waited, wearily, night after night for the cacophony to just switch off and shut up. But it never did, until the new normal of my incessant exhaustion pulled me backwards, away from all the mental chatter. Sometimes, as I finally started to fade and my thoughts grew less directed, I would see images in my mind: the night of the party, usually, which I didn’t want to think about in my more coherent hours. I regretted the horrible aftermath, and I resented it. I wanted to be able to look back on that night with satisfaction: all that skin and sex had been a fantasy come true, but there was such a pall cast over it I couldn’t even see it straight any more.

 

Images, though: Taemin’s voice, Minho’s skin, the hot, urgent growl of Jjong’s voice in my ears. How the sex just felt like it had gone on and on and on. In those moments, I wanted more. I wanted to drown like that again. I craved it, and I could tell it was something else the mess of my brain was inciting. But then the damned neuron car-wreck would show me Clara’s angry eyes, and the set of her shoulders when she turned away from me in pain. I would hear echoes of Eunji and Minho fighting. I would see Jjong crying. And sometimes, then, I would wake up once more, and the whole cycle would start over again. I tried to remind myself I had to rest and take care of the baby, but still, somehow, the baby wasn’t as real as the barrage of emotions of all the people I loved bouncing back and forth through the building like some horrific pinball machine loaded with shiny grenades. I didn’t know what would set anyone off. I didn’t even know what would set _me_ off. 

 

Just a few more days, I kept reminding myself. Just a few more days and we’d know something. And everything would be…better? Worse? Better in that I’d finally know something, but worse in that…. I just blanked. Would we have to draw up documents? Work out custody? Child support? It sounded ludicrous, but how could anyone know? Who would make decisions on schools or food or how she’d wear her hair or….

 

I was the only common denominator, here. I would have to decide so much. For a baby I had had to be convinced to want in the first place. 

 

I’m scared. I’m confused. I’m angry. I’m scared.

 

I held on to Jjong in the dark and waited.


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He didn’t get it on the first try. I held my breath. He pulled back. Tried again. Again, no good. I took in a deep breath, held tighter to Jjong’s hand, bored holes through the opposite wall. It fucking hurt.

Jonghyun’s hands were shaking.

 

He had pressed the button for the 8th floor, and then paused, hand hanging in space, as he stared, considering, at the tremble in his fingers. Slowly, they curled into a fist, and he slid it back into his pocket. His breathing was quick, light, and just as shaky as his hands, and as the elevator began to climb, he folded himself up, too, pushing against the brushed steel wall of the elevator as if he needed something to hold him up. 

 

Which he probably did.

 

I said nothing, watching the numbers climb, my own hands wrapped tight around the strap of my messenger bag until the leather doubled in my grip. Neither of us had spoken since we’d left the flat, and probably for the same reason: we couldn’t trust our voices. And we were both too brittle right now.

 

I slid back half a step, just so I could look at him without his noticing. His jaw was thrust forward just slightly, set. He was breathing carefully through his nose, staring at the floor without seeing it. I’d seen him pull inwards on himself like this before his solo stages, before big interviews, before facing the cameras he so disliked. I knew that he was, as much as he could be, there for me right now, and I also knew he would come through when I needed him even more. And I would need him so much today. As he would need me. I knew beyond question we would hold each other up. And soon, we’d know what was coming at us. He had withstood so much in his life, and shot up like a firework into such a blaze of light. He could do anything. He could.

 

I whispered softly into his shoulder. “You are the bravest man I’ve ever known.”

 

He stared at me as the elevator chimed and the doors slowly opened. There was a sudden sheen to his eyes, and quickly, he took my hand.

 

The hallway was long and stark, overbright with fluorescent lights, plastic beige paneling halfway up the walls, with lab equipment shoved against the walls between doors. It was probably completely innocuous, but I didn’t care: it looked cold and ominous. I knew I was holding his hand too tightly now, and I didn’t care. I drew closer.

 

He stopped in front of a door on our left. A long, vertical window in the fake woodgrain showed a slice of a large but cluttered lab inside. There was a clock on the far wall— 12.15pm. Everyone out to lunch. We were exactly on time. He knocked, then turned the metal knob.

 

At first, I didn’t see anyone. But the door closed behind us with a creak and a click, and a man in his mid-thirties, average height, with close-cropped black hair, walked out from behind a tall piece of equipment. He stared at us a moment, eating Doritos from a snack-sized bag.

 

“We’re—“ Jjong’s voice was rough. He cleared his throat, tried again. “We’re Kibum’s friends.”

 

The man jerked his head in a casual nod. “Yeah. Come on back.”

 

We followed him to the back corner. There was a long white counter, with things that looked like microscopes on steroids. Racks of test tubes. Instruments about which I knew precisely zero. I tried not to crush Jjong’s hand. He made no effort to dislodge me.

 

The man rummaged in a drawer a moment, pulled out a test tube in a sealed packet. A similarly-wrapped needle on a plastic tube with a long chamber at the end. A rubber tie. My pulse started flickering along my throat and my stomach clenched.

 

“He told you I’m not a phlebotomist, right?” said the man, casually.

 

Jjong and I exchanged a look. “That never really came up,” Jjong said.

 

He shrugged. “I’ve done it before. Just warning you.”

 

“I’ll go first,” Jjong said quickly.

 

He paused. “You sure?”

 

“Yes,” he replied firmly.

 

The man shrugged, reaching back into the drawer. “Okay.”

 

Jjong took off his jacket, and was in the process of pushing up his sleeve when the other man came at him wth a slender wooden wand like a long Q-tip. Before Jjong could even ask, the man grasped his jaw, pulled it down, and ran the swab along the inside of his cheek. Half a second, and the swab was in a test tube, capped, and back in the drawer. 

 

Jjong blinked, wide-eyed, his fingers still on the cuff of his sleeve, frozen. “What—“

 

The other man ignored him, looking at me and jerking his head towards a chair behind me. “Have a seat.”

 

I sat, my whole skull throbbing by now in time with my heartbeat: rapid and loud. I had to remind myself forcefully that it was the hormones making me want to cry, and that it wouldn’t do any good, anyway. I slid my bag to the floor and held out my arm, pushing it into the armrest to stop its trembling. 

 

He tied the rubber strip around my arm. “Make a fist,” he said, disinterestedly. Jjong stepped up, sliding his fingers into mine. I gripped hard.

 

There was a pop as the test tube locked into the wide chamber at the end of the needle. He pulled a stool over, dropping onto it carelessly as he snapped on rubber gloves. He flicked hard at the vein on the inside of my elbow, peering at it closely, then grunting in vague satisfaction and swabbing my arm with alcohol. 

 

Then he reached for the needle and tube. I focussed on a random piece of equipment on the far wall. It looked like a cross between an ancient computer stack and a commercial drinks refrigerator. I wondered if he kept sodas in it.

 

He didn’t get it on the first try. I held my breath. He pulled back. Tried again. Again, no good. I took in a deep breath, held tighter to Jjong’s hand, bored holes through the opposite wall. It fucking _hurt_.

 

Thank fuck, the third time was the charm. With a another grunt of satisfaction, he pulled the tourniquet from my arm and slapped at my hand. “Let go.” Jjong loosened his grip, but kept his fingers in mine as I forced my fist open. I saw my blood, the most gorgeous garnet, whoosh down the short line, rapidly filling the test tube. I look up at Jjong. He was staring at me, and ghosted a smile. I wondered how he’d managed it.

 

The not-phlebotomist took a cotton ball, pressed it down hard over my arm, and pulled the needle out from beneath it. With his other hand, he rummaged in the drawer again and pulled out a band-aid. He shot a quick glance at Jjong. 

 

“Here. Hold this.”

 

Jjong reached over to hold the cotton ball on my arm; the other man unwrapped the band-aid and put it over the cotton. 

 

He stood up, detaching my blood sample from the needle and tubing and throwing the latter into a red trash can, along with the gloves. He put my sample in the drawer besides Jjong’s, then nodded at him. “I have the phone number. It’ll be a few hours.”

 

“We’ll be waiting.”

 

He made a non-committal noise. Jjong took my hand again, and we left the lab. 

 

It was done.

 

 

 

 

 

I pulled the lounger up to the window in the library. There were no buildings on that side of the flat, and I could look out towards the mountains surrounding Seoul. At night, they glittered with the lights that ran along the ancient city walls. But now, they were slightly hazy in the normal, awful air quality of summer. It had improved over the last ten years. Nowhere near as bad as China, which was also cleaning up its act, but still not perfect. Did gas masks come in baby-size? I sighed. Fuck. Would I be able to sleep tonight, or would that be yet another thing I worried over? 

 

Jjong came in almost silently. I felt him more than heard him. The clink of glass and ice, a drink being put down on the side table behind me. I reached back a hand.

 

He slid onto the wide lounger behind me, worked his arms around me, put his head on my shoulder. I couldn’t remember now how many hours it had been since I’d spoken a single word; he didn’t push me. I felt like if I opened my mouth, I would break. Crack around the edges until I crumbled into dust. I’d held an 80-year-old silk dress, once, and the lining was too delicate to touch— it would dissolve in weightless particles. They said it was called “shattering,” I hadn’t known fabric could do that. But that’s what I felt like, now.

 

He stroked my hair, bending his head down to hide his eyes against my shoulder. I wrapped my fingers in his. Three and a half hours. Kibum sat upstairs with his phone. We would all wait now.

Kibum had his own demons at the moment. Word had come from a mutual friend that Clara had acted out on location at her shoot— got in a fight with someone. She’d gone from Cambodia to Japan again, and everyone was trying to keep it quiet, but there was so much gossip. It would blow over, but it would leave a stain. If media darling Key went to her, it would only get bigger. Silver was packing already. He would be on a plane in three hours. I hoped to G-d Kibum wouldn’t suddenly need him, too, today.

 

I rubbed my head against Jjong, wrapping my fingers around his. I felt safer, here, with him as my bulwark. I didn’t want to move. Ever. I wanted to hide here in my safe space, in my home, in his arms. I could pretend here. Nothing was wrong, here. I couldn’t disappoint anyone, here.

 

My breath caught a little. I hadn’t felt that last thought coming. I knew no one blamed me, but it didn’t stop me from wondering if they should. I didn’t know if I blamed myself, either. Dammit. _Dammit_.

 

His arms tightened, and he pushed his face into my hair, wordlessly soothing me. I tilted my head back, closing my eyes, trying to let thought and language fade. He was soft, he was warm, he was strong, he was home. He held my pain, and I held his. He was home.

 

I don’t know how long it took me to realise he was crying.

 

My heart tore open and I twisted in his arms, gathering him closer, closer, pulling his head down to my shoulder again and cradling him close, wrapped around him, protecting and soothing, bleeding all the pain out of him, taking it all. Mine, mine, before anything else in my life: him. He had been so strong for me, and so good, and now, mine, mine. Mine to hold, to hold up.

 

His shoulders shook, his face buried still in my hair: I petted and stroked and soothed, intertwined with him, breathing with him as tears slid through my hair to my skin. My fingers found the knots in his muscles, pushing and kneading, until his head came up and he met my eyes, his own still red and wet, tears still sliding across his skin. I traced my fingers over his brows, lightly over his cheekbones, staring at him in awe. I had never seen anyone so beautiful, so breathtaking, so deep and rich and inspiring. I would do anything for him. I could do anything with him. If he needed me to carry him right now, I would, without question. I had never loved anything on this planet the way I loved him.

 

I said it all to him, soundlessly, pouring myself out for him, and his eyes widened, breath stopping as it washed over him, and then, then his face crumpled, and he sobbed, broken.

 

His sobs were heartwrenching: he had never held back on his emotions, and I loved and protected that part of him, refusing to let the world rebuke him for it. I loved his openness, I loved how easy it made him to trust completely. So I held him, and let him cry.

 

I gathered him close, so close, so tight, rocking him, as grief and fear flooded out of him, washing away from us. For this minute, for right here, I would let nothing touch him. I would keep him safe. My fingers curled against the skin of his neck beneath his collar, and I kissed his hair, his temple, anywhere I could. _Safe, safe, I love you, you’re safe._

 

He raised his face, red and wet and still twisted by emotion, and my heart just folded around him, and I kissed him.

 

He sank against me, into me, and neither of us knew we were separate beings any more. I uncovered his skin, kissing every part of his beauty, every curve, every sweep, blessing every inch, amazed all over again that anyone could be so transcendently full of light, so beautiful. 

 

His eyes fluttered shut as I kissed his face, brushing my lips over his cheeks, the dip behind his collarbone, the angle of his jaw. There was skin against his hands, as well, and I sighed into his body, breathing him in, losing myself. No him, no me, just us. Just us.

 

When he pushed into me at last it was so right, so completing, so universal I arched up in astonishment, my eyes opening into his in wonder. There were still tears glistening on his lashes; I put up a hand to brush them away, and he turned his face into my fingers, mouth falling open as his eyes closed. His voice now was soft gasps, sounds of pleasure, of tension not driven by fear. He put a hand over my heart, bent to kiss the skin there, his voice rising. I lost track of time, of location, of everything— just lost. 

 

I felt it, then: no special tricks, no extra effort: his skin sliding under my hands was on fire, I was on fire, light and heat blooming inside of me. I dragged air into my lungs, and then couldn’t breathe. His eyes snapped open, opened wider, he pushed harder, harder, and—!

 

His shout echoed in my body as I arched, clenched tight around him, head thrown back, flame surging back and forth inside me, my legs starting to shake, my skin surging, roaring in my ears. Closer, closer, I pulled him, closer, his body becoming more solid as the waves exploded— then ebbed, a floating euphoria rolling in, filling me heavily. I stared into his eyes, amazed: it had never been so easy, so simple. So beautiful.

 

My wonder filled his eyes as he touched my face, a delicate smile sitting lightly on his mouth. He stroked my skin as I did his, both us stunned. For a moment, he looked as if he might say something, but then he simply shook his head and reached for the throw at the edge of the lounger, pulling me close as he settled it over our bodies. I touched his cheek again, smoothed away the last traces of tears, and laid my head against his. As the shadows lengthened under the city walls, we slept.

 

 

 

 

 

It wasn’t yet twilight when I woke, hazy and not-quite-conscious. I had heard something? 

 

That something, a moment later, became Kibum, standing in the doorway. I blinked at him as he stared at us both, naked and tangled together on the lounger, the throw in as much disarray as our limbs. And then, suddenly, I remembered. I knew why he was there. My lungs constricted, my whole body jerking. His face was inscrutable.

 

Jjong was instantly awake in my arms, and we sat up slowly, huddled skin to skin for comfort; I clutched the throw to me as well, needing to feel surrounded. Jjong and I exchanged a look, and I took his hand. He squeezed mine tightly. 

 

And then Kibum’s eyes softened, and he smiled, eyes going from me to Jjong.

 

“Congratulations,” he said. “ _Dad_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for another delay-- and on a pivotal chapter, too! This time, I was in Paris. Where I was so sure I'd get writing done. In reality, however? Not so much.


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I walked forward, smoothly, my eyes fixed on her dead-white face. “Baby,” I said softly.

 

Kibum laughed to see our shocked faces, and came over to hug us both as we burst out crying— for entirely different reasons than before, now. As I kissed every inch of Jjong’s face, the younger man actually giggled, and asked what we wanted for dinner. Jjong stared at him in absolute confusion for a minute, then kissed us both. 

 

“Put clothes on. Half an hour!”

 

And then he was gone. 

 

I turned to Jjong, and for the first time in hours, found my voice.

 

“I love you.”

 

His whole body glowed. “And I love you, jagiya.”

 

 

 

 

 

Kibum brought us food, and Taemin joined us. We sat on the floor in the living room, and the mood was so relaxed I felt like a completely different human. Jjong and I stared at each other, openly sappy, and Taemin couldn’t stop giggling. Kibum assured us Minho and Jinki already knew, and they were both spending some quality time with their mates. My G-d, did I ever understand _that_ desire. I liked having Kibum and Taemin there, but I also looked forward to having some time alone with Jjong. Everything felt good, and I was in love with everything. And so, so eager to move on, running headlong from the absolute mountain of hell we’d been living under. Jjong and I had taken a shower before getting dressed, and I swear to G-d it was one of the best, most cleansing experiences I’d ever had in my whole life.

 

Soon enough, though, I stretched, tummy full, head pillowed on Jjong’s knee, and looked at our two visitors.

 

“While you were out, I moved my sonogram.”

 

Jjong looked down in surprise. “Wait, what?”

 

I grinned up at him. “You were getting dressed. I didn’t think you’d mind.”

 

“Wh— when?” His eyebrows were lost in his fringe.

 

“First thing tomorrow! 8am! I just didn’t want to wait any more. I mean, we don’t have to, now, do we?”

 

“When was it before?” Taemin asked.

 

“3pm day after tomorrow,” Jjong told him.

 

“I don’t want to wait. I want to know everything right now.” I giggled. “I want it all!”

 

Jjong smiled indulgently. “I hope you remember this at 6.30 in the morning when I’m dragging you out of bed by your heels.”

 

“Nonsense,” I said. “I will fly out of that bed like a butterfly!”

 

I had to hit them all before they stopped laughing.

 

 

 

 

 

And okay, perhaps I was more caterpillar than butterfly at 6.30am. I will admit this, because I am an honorable soul. There is no truth, however, that I threatened Jjong with bodily harm unless I had tea in my hand within fifteen minutes. None.

 

I gave him twenty.

 

Thankfully, I wasn’t having an internal ultrasound, so I didn’t have to have a full bladder. Nonetheless, I sat in the car, still slightly damp around the edges from my shower, and clutched my tea as if it held the secrets of the Universe. I couldn’t quite get to a smile, so I contented myself with randomly poking my lover in the leg for no reason as he drove. 

 

“Owwwwwwquitit!” he whined, stifling a giggle. Which meant I did it again. Wash, rinse repeat.

 

By the time we got to the birthing centre, we were both like school kids. Well, like school kids when there’s a party in homeroom and you know there’ll be cupcakes. We held hands as we walked to the door, and just for a second, I had to pause.

 

“Hm?” He looked down at me fondly.

 

I squeezed his hand and smiled back at him. “Last time we were here— the last checkup? Man. I feel a thousand pounds lighter.”

 

He laughed aloud, and kissed my forehead. “Yup. I’m with you on that.”

 

Inside, even the front desk staff noticed how giggly we were, laughing that it was far too early in the morning, and we must be birds. 

 

“If there’s a bird that sings like he does,” I grinned, abandoning all pretense at anonymity, “I want one.”

 

“Hey! You have me!” he protested.

 

“You go away sometimes!” I pushed his arm. 

 

He snorted. “I always come back.”

 

“Okay, that’s true that’s true. You’ll just have to record some lullabies for us.”

 

His eyes narrowed. “That, you know…that's an excellent idea.”

 

The receptionist shook her head. “You’re both adorable. It’s nice to see happy people this early! You’re in room 108 today— have a good visit!”

 

I wondered if she was remarking on how oddly tense we must have seemed in comparison, now, on our previous visits. I sighed. Thank fuck that was over. Now we just needed some good news about…well, too soon for ten fingers and ten toes, but something like that.

 

I had worn a loose top and skirt today, both nice and light, despite the general insistence on warmth. The nurse and doctor were both in the room already, so after very polite greetings, they helped me up onto the table, carefully folded my top out of the way, and explained the process so we could get right to it. It was fairly basic: gel on my abdomen, sound waves through my body, magic of science, and voila: our first images of our baby. Abruptly, I found my hands shaking. I looked up at Jjong with wide eyes. 

 

“Holy cow, man.”

 

“Yeah,” he said breathlessly. “Yeah.”

 

I jumped a little— the gel was cool on my skin, and felt very, very weird. The nurse had to gently tell me to stay still a few times. I apologised profusely.

 

We stared at the alien images on the screen, neither of us understanding what we were seeing. The nurse and doctor didn’t seem to have any problem, both nodding approvingly. 

 

“Looks good so far,” the nurse murmured, still keeping the wand moving over…well, something.

 

“So…I’m eight weeks?”I couldn’t stop myself— the words were out before I even felt them coming up my throat.

 

The doctor shook her head. “Not even. I’d say you’re shy of that by maybe…mm, three days?”

 

I laughed up at Jjong. We hadn’t needed the extra confirmation, but oh, man. It certainly didn’t feel bad to get it. He met my eyes, and we both smiled softly.

 

“So. Yes. Here, let me show you what you’re looking at,” said the doctor, stepping closer to the screen with a grin playing at the edges of her mouth. “This is your uterus here, this void, right?”

 

“Wow,” I said softly. “That’s neat.”

 

She nodded. “Mmhm. Almost empty now, but it’s going to get very, very full, soon. And this? Right here?”

 

She pointed to an undistinguished, grainy area of white…shapes, down at the bottom of the void. My breath caught, and I heard Jonghyun gasp softly, his breath coming fast.

 

I stared, mouth dry and eyes wide. My brain couldn’t process. Oh my—

 

“Is that…?” Jjong asked, faintly.

 

Her smile grew wider. “Yes. Yes, that’s them.”

 

There was a pause.

 

We both looked at her.

 

“I’m sorry.” I blinked. “What did you say?” 

 

Her face lit up fully, now, and the nurse was grinning, too. 

 

“Congratulations,” said the doctor. “You’re having twins.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I have no truly clear idea how we got home, honestly. Just, you know. Jjong, car, moving, home. We showered together— because I was still sticky, and I had absolutely no confidence in my ability to work my hands in a dextrous enough manner to manage a shower alone— and by the time we were dressed, found our living room quite full. 

 

It turned out Taemin had texted for an update while I was having most of the gel cleaned off my skin, and Jjong had, in his blindsided state, texted back something just shy of complete nonsense, then pocketed his phone. It was already on silent. So, for some reason, was mine.

 

Taemin, understandably, panicked.

 

Thankfully, we’d both put on actual clothes before we emerged into the living room, because seeing the entire population of the building there was, to put it mildly, a little bit of a shock. And they were all staring at us in expressions that ran a very narrow spectrum from worried to terrified. We all sort of stood there and stared at each other a moment.

 

It was Taemin who spoke first.

 

“I…I didn't know what you were trying to tell me, hyung, and I thought…I thought…if it was bad news, you…maybe….” He bit his lip, skin pale, hands twisted together.

 

I clapped a hand over my mouth, but couldn’t quite contain the giggle rising up as I realised what had happened. I saw Eunji’s eyes widen in something approaching terror as she assumed I must be hysterical.

 

I reached over and took Jjong’s hand, squeezed it. I answered Taemin, but I only had eyes for his hyung. “No, honey. It’s not bad news at all.”

 

There was a squeak on the other side of the room, and I was fairly sure it was Jisoo, who had always been quick on the uptake when children were involved. But everyone else looked completely confused until Jonghyun, squeezing my hand back, looked around the room with a slow-blooming smile.

 

“It’s twins.”

 

 

 

 

 

Koreans are not used to partying without alcohol, but it can be managed.

 

Jisoo was at the door, taking delivery of bags and bags of food. Eunji was in the process of pulling down plates and cups from our cupboards. Jinki arranged chopsticks and napkins on our coffee table, while Minho went downstairs to grab the younger generation to join in the fun. I was under the strictest orders to sit on the couch and do nothing, and Jjong, under pretense of ensuring I obeyed, was ordered to sit beside me. I tilted my head against his shoulder, feeling dreamy and surreal, and just smiled.

 

Twenty four hours. Just twenty four hours ago, I had been out of my mind with fear and apprehension. I had been so alone and frightened, feeling as if I had exactly one person in the world I could turn to, even if that one person were in as much pain as I. But now? Now we were both, G-d, so much freer. So much happier. 

 

“I’m going to Skype my folks later,” I told him. The thought made me giddy. “First grandchild! Grand _children_! My mom’s gonna flip.”

 

He chuckled. “Fourth and fifth. You'd think she'd be complacent by now, but you know my mom.”

 

“She’s gonna insist on being on the next train. Actually, I’m not sure my mom won’t, too.”

 

“Good thing we have guest suites, hm?”

 

“I knew I’d guilt my dad into getting over here one way or the other.”

 

“Devious girl.”

 

“Yes, but I’m _your_ devious girl.”

 

“I was just born lucky, I guess.”

 

“Oh! Then I have to tell Eunhee and Minhyuk. Finally.”

 

“Oh, thank G-d.”

 

“Why are _you_ thanking G-d?”

 

“Because I won’t get death glares any more when I walk into the store.”

 

“ _What_?” I sat up, staring.

 

“They were so sure you were sick and you weren’t telling them, so they were concerned. So. You know. They were thinking I wasn’t telling them, either. And they don’t want to be mad at the boss, so….”

 

I settled again on his shoulder. “The boss’ boyfriend is an acceptable substitute.”

 

“Thanks. Thanks a lot.”

 

“I don't make the rules, baby. I just sign the paychecks for the ones who play by them.”

 

He burst out giggling, and I leaned up to kiss him, which is when Eunji made her way over. I smiled at her, and she reached out her arms. I didn’t even think twice.

 

“I’m so sorry, unnie,” she said, “You never should have heard any of that ridiculous stuff. We just say stupid things, get it all out, and then move on.”

 

“It’s okay,” I said, hugging her tightly. “I swear. Don’t even worry about it.”

 

She sat back, keeping her hands on my arms. “I swear to you, neither of us blame you at all, because there’s nothing to blame. And we were going to have it out one way or the other. It was just time.”

 

I snuggled back into Jjong, who rested his chin on my shoulder. “So,” I asked archly, “you gonna  join me in Maternity Land?”

 

“All the cool kids are,” Jjong wheedled. I poked him.

 

Eunji made a vague wave, her cheeks turning a bit pink. “We are…in negotiations.”

 

I leaned forward and hugged her again. “Excellent. I am very pleased to hear it.”

 

“At least we’re finally talking about it!” she laughed. “And I’d like to do it while Mina’s still young, you know?”

 

I nodded, and Jjong kissed my ear. “We’re going to have our own preschool soon, you know.”

 

I cocked my head. “That's not the worst idea ever, you know.”

 

“Hmmmm,” he mused. “You know, it’s not, is it? We have the space downstairs.”

 

Just then, the front door opened again, and Minho returned with the Mini Brigade, Mina on one arm, Chanhyuk on the other, and Soohyun racing ahead to fling herself into Jinki’s knees head-on.

 

“Ouf!” he exclaimed. “My daughter the linebacker!”

 

Minho handed Chanhyuk off to Jisoo, and came straight over, kneeling on the floor in front of me. “I’m so sorry, noona. I really am. I—“

 

“I know, I know. Shut up and hug me.” And he did. Which was lovely. “There. We’re all done. Just make up your mind quickly so we can all do this crazy pregnant-lady hormones thing together.”

 

Both Minho and Jonghyun groaned, and both got soundly whapped for it.

 

Across the room, Jisoo nodded approvingly. “Come eat,” she said.

 

 

 

 

Our late lunch sort of…expanded. I wasn’t the only one feeling euphoric. It was very much like that feeling you get in your arms and shoulders when you’ve been carrying something so heavy for so long— you’re sure you’re actually floating even though you’re still on the ground. So we all made our way to the roof, eventually, and Kibum brought out some exquisite wine. So I was assured. For me, lemon tea— he’d even found some in decaf, for which I affectionately pinched his cheek. He rolled his eyes and snorted off.

 

I lay on my favourite lounger as the shadows grew long and the pretty lights around the garden bloomed. The sunset was pink and gold, and we were all oh, my G-d, so mellow. Jinki held a soundly-sleeping Chanhyuk on one shoulder; Mina and Soohyun were asleep in bed downstairs, with their baby monitors patched in through the garden’s sound system. Jjong had turned on some delicious, deep, thumpy, funky, relaxing music, but any sound from below would pause the tunes. I grinned. We’d need to hook into that technology ourselves one day soon. I shivered in delight. 

 

“Are you cold?” Eunji asked instantly, her ears perking up like a hound’s.

 

“I swear by all things holy, I am not.”

 

“Jjong?” Jisoo spoke up from the other side of the fire pit. “Is she cold?”

 

I looked over my shoulder at my lover, sprawled luxuriously behind and around me. “If you answer in the affirmative, you are sleeping up here tonight. And possibly for the foreseeable future.”

 

Jisoo and Eunji giggled, and Jjong spoke up firmly. “I promise you,” he pulled me tighter against his body, “she is quite, quite warm.”

 

I grinned. “You’re a very smart man, you know that?” I kissed him.

 

“Well, my bed is much more comfortable than this lounger, see.”

 

The boys joined in the laughter then. “Maybe not _that_ smart,” Taemin snarked.

 

I rolled back against Jjong, snuggling into his side, playing with the buttons on his shirt. I was tired, yeah— I mean, when was I not, lately?— but the relief and the joy and the sun and my friends and just everything had me in a very, very good mood. 

 

I leaned up and whispered in his ear. “You know what I read online the other day?”

 

“Oh, this should be good.”

 

“Mmmmmm. Remember how…easy it was yesterday? For you to get me off?”

 

He glanced around, making sure no one could hear me, one eyebrow rising. “Yyyyyyes?”

 

“Well, see, seems one of the side benefits to having all these hormones is certain parts of me are much more sensitive. And my drive is ramped up. Way up.”

 

His eyes narrowed as a long, slow smile started on his lips. “Well, isn't that fascinating?”

 

“I thought so.” I drummed my fingers on his skin, so lightly, under his shirt. “And I’m off some of the meds that made it so hard before, too.”

 

“No pun intended,” he smirked.

 

“Oh, _very_ no pun intended.”

 

“So are you suggesting something?”

 

I fluttered my lashes. “I was wondering if you could be persuaded….”

 

“To?” he prompted, his pupils beginning to widen.

 

I inched up closer to his ear, and drew in a long slow breath—

 

The stairway door let out its distinctive, metal squeal, and we all looked up, surprised. We were all up here. Who was left?

 

We were even more surprised to see Silver, with Clara in tow.

 

Kibum shot up out of his chair, seeming to hang in the air for a moment, staring. Clara stared back, her face blank, until an expression began creeping over it. _Shame. She’s ashamed._

 

I looked back at Jjong, but he shook his head minutely. He didn’t know what was going on, either.

 

Silver put a hand on Clara’s arm, gently, and ushered her into the circle of our chairs around the fire pit. Kibum moved over, his eyes dark with concern, and sat down with her. Silver took her other side, his face, as well, a mask of worry.

 

She was paler even than she usually was, the effect made more stark by the deep cherry lipstick she wore, and the curtain of her long black hair. She looked around at all of us, and her eyes glittered with a strange, nervous energy.

 

“Hey,” she said in general.

 

“Glad to have you back,” Jisoo said warmly. “Drink?”

 

She nodded, and Jisoo handed her a bottle of something beer-ish, fruity, or possibly both. Kibum frowned, but leaned over and opened it for her, watching her face. She nodded her thanks without meeting his eyes, and took a pull. 

 

“So,” she said, looking up at me, “I hear congrats are in order.”

 

I glanced at Jjong, unable to keep a smile off my face. “Yeah. Two of them. Both this guy’s.”

 

“That’s pretty awesome,” she said, half-smiling. “That’s really good.”

 

I nodded. “Yeah, we’re pretty pleased.”

 

“Chanhyuk won’t be the maknae,” Jinki observed. 

 

“Aww!” Taemin pouted. “That’s the fun part!”

 

“Hey, you!” Jjong shot back at him, “You’d better not be thinking of corrupting my kids!”

 

Taemin snorted, gesturing around the group. “You’d better not be thinking I won’t. _All_ your kids.”

 

“Just you wait, young man,” I said warningly. He fought a smile as he met my eyes, bending his head to take a drink.

 

“I don’t think Taeminnie is capable of not being a corrupting influence on the young,” Eunji laughed. 

 

Minho nodded sagely. “You are a wise woman.”

 

“Good of you to notice, cupcake,” she responded tartly, as everyone giggled. 

 

“Well, he has years of experience,” Jinki pointed out. “All those fainting girls—“

 

“And boys!” I amended.

 

“And boys!” Jinki nodded. “All over the world. It would be a shame to let such hard-won experience go to waste.”

 

“Save it for the stage,” Jjong warned, laughing. 

 

The banter continued, warmly, lazily, and I basked in it, closing my eyes. The sun descended slowly, lower and lower, the shadows spreading out across the rooftop until they faded into darkness, or disappeared into the fairy lights coming on. The stars bloomed in the deep blue velvet, and the breeze rustled the leaves of the potted palms and the raised flower beds, making the air smell green and fresh. We were all together, and we were all okay. Well, mostly okay, but now that Clara was back, and everything had worked out, I hoped she’d settle down again, relax. Let Silver and Kibum take care of her. I closed my eyes, tilting my head back against Jjong. Yes, I was definitely warm enough, but I wouldn’t necessarily mind being a little warmer.

 

As if he’d read my thoughts, he inclined his head and whispered into my ear, “So what was that scientific article you were talking about before? Because I think it seemed to have an interesting hypothesis.”

 

“Mmm. I don’t know that it was conclusive. It might require further experimentation.”

 

“Why, you’ve just said one of my favourite words,” he replied, his voice dropping to a growl that made the skin all over my body spark and shiver. 

 

I swallowed, taking a breath to steady myself, and sat up. “Surprise, surprise,” I said, as everyone looked at me, “I’m tired as hell and needing to sleep. Chanhyuk there has the right idea.”

 

Jinki grinned, patting his son’s hair as the boy slept on, open-mouthed, drooling onto a cloth on his daddy’s shoulder. I smiled at everyone else, frowning slightly as I noticed Clara missing. 

 

“She needed a minute,” Silver said softly, and Kibum craned his neck, trying to look past the palms and ferns behind him.

 

“I’ll go say goodnight to her,” I said, squeezing Jjong’s hand. “I’ll be right back,” I added to him, softly.

 

“I hope so,” he smiled, with a glint in his eye.

 

Which is, of course, when it all went to hell, because as I rounded the thick screen of greenery hiding the other side of the rooftop, I saw Clara: standing on the railing, staring blankly at the city below.

 

I froze, my brain filling with white noise. 

 

_She’ll hurt herself_ , I thought stupidly. _She’s too high up_.

 

And then I felt calm. Just…calm. 

 

I walked forward, smoothly, my eyes fixed on her dead-white face. “Baby,” I said softly.

 

She didn’t move, still staring downwards.

 

“Clara, baby. What is it?”

 

Her mouth opened slightly, then closed again. 

 

“Honey. Tell me?”

 

She shook her head, a tiny motion. “Everything. Nothing. It’s okay.”

 

“What’s okay?” I took a few more steps. I knew we were too far from the others. They could neither see nor hear us, and— fuck— would respect our privacy. _It’s okay, it’s okay. It’ll be okay._

 

“I’m done now. I’m done. I’m just sick of…I’m done.”

 

I paused. Considering.

 

“They pine when you’re away, you know,” I said. “Both of them.”

 

“No. I drag them down.”

 

“Not at all. I remember Kibum before you met him. He was restless. He was annoyed. He was annoying, too.” I smiled. “He needed grounding. You gave him that.”

 

“He doesn’t need me. They don’t need me. I drag them down.”

 

I took another step. Another. I was close enough now to see she had been crying before, but the tears had dried. Her eyes were empty.

 

“You keep them grounded. It’s not the same thing. You give them someone to come home to. Even when you’re not here. Kibum snaps at people more when you’re not here. He worries about you. But he likes worrying about you— he likes taking care of you. He loves you.”

 

She shook her head again, minutely.

 

I shrugged. “But it doesn’t matter, you know. That’s not even what’s important.”

 

She didn’t say anything, but I could tell she was listening, just faintly curious.

 

“I love them both. And I love Jjong. And I’ll love the kids. But I love them because I love me. That’s how I love other people. I love me, so I love them. It sounds like bull, but it’s true.” Another step. “But I think you lost that, honey. I think you need to remember it.”

 

She frowned, just faintly.

 

“My mom calls it ‘Pouring from an empty cup.’ When you’re so tired and so beaten down you don’t have anything to give anyone else but you keep trying anyway. I think you’re tired, and you’re sad, and you need to fill your cup. You need to take care of you, honey.”

 

“There’s nothing left to take care of,” she said. But now tears were running down her face again. I don’t know why, but I knew it was good. She was thinking again. 

 

I was standing almost directly beside her by now, looking right up at her.

 

“There’s so much to take care of, honey. There’s so much inside you. Your heart’s so big you need two lovers, sweetheart. That’s pretty awesome.”

 

She sniffed. It wasn’t a laugh, but it was a reaction. I could feel my heart going faster now. 

 

“Clara, love, come down. Some sit with us. You don’t have to say anything tonight. You don’t have to do anything. Come sit with us. We love you so much.”

 

Her eyes flicked over the city. 

 

“Everyone’s gonna be better off without me,” she half-whispered. “I fuck everything up.”

 

“So…you've thought about that? About what’ll happen to everyone?”

 

She gave a listless little nod. “They’ll be good.”

 

“They won’t, honey. They won’t. You know Kibum will blame himself forever, and Silver will get even quieter until he just goes away.” _That wasn’t helpful_ , my brain screamed. I went on quickly. “Because the three of you are what keeps you all together. You all need each other. And they love you. They turn to you like you’re the sun and they’re sunflowers. And you do the same thing. And it’s not because of anything you do or give them or say— it’s just you. They love you because they know you, because they trust you. Because they want you with them. We can go back right now and sit down with them and they’ll put their arms around you and ask if you’re hungry and Silver will get you dinner and Kibum will get you a drink. And if you need to sleep for a week, they’ll bring you coffee in the morning and tuck you in at night. If you can figure out what you need most, they’ll help you find it. And if all you want is to stop hurting right now, they’ll help you do that.”

 

Her eyes widened slightly, and I could see the longing. But her eyes were still fixed the ground.

 

“You can sleep right now,” I said gently. “You can curl up in bed and sleep right now. And in the morning, you’ll feel differently. You may be angry, you may be bored, you may be frustrated. But it’s different. You’re going to feel something different.”

 

I took one last step, and held out my hand.

 

“But if you do this now, you won’t know what you could feel tomorrow. If you feel angry tomorrow, or you feel frustrated, or whatever, it means what you feel right now goes away. It means you stopped in the middle of a sentence instead of reading to the end. And everything changes. Everything changes, Clara. I promise.”

 

I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t move. I stood with my hand upraised, and I swear to G-d if I could have pulled her back with sheer force of will, she would have been on the ground already. But the seconds ticked by, and I waited, and was completely still. 

 

Until finally.

 

Finally.

 

Her hand flicked towards mine.

 

I reached forward, gently, and took it, shoving every ounce of reaction to the back of my brain. I would react later. I would scream later.

 

She turned, slightly, and bent her knees to climb down, and finally met my eyes. And I smiled at her, gently. “Whatever you need, honey. We all love you. We will all help you, okay?”

 

She stared blankly for a moment, and then, just faintly, she nodded, and leaned towards me.

 

And lost her balance.

 

And fell backwards.

 

I screamed something in a rage, and yanked her towards me by her arm, hard as I could. And then my scream pitched up in shrill octaves as my shoulder, the fucking shoulder that hadn’t given me trouble now in weeks, caught fire, and my arm went completely numb, my hand around hers going instantly powerless.

 

But Silver was there, and Kibum, and they caught Clara as she pitched forward— _forward_ —  towards the patio floor. 

 

And Jjong was there to catch me.


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Taemin, on the other end of the couch, giggled. “Isn’t this how we all got into trouble in the first place?”

“So you’re coming back tomorrow?"

 

Kibum nodded, playing with his straw with long, idle fingers, while the other hand propped up his chin. “I think it’s for the best. …No, I mean, I know it is.”

 

I sighed. “I’m sorry, honey.”

 

He shook his head. “Nope. Don’t be. It’s only two weeks and she’s already making progress, and she knows what she wants. I’m not gonna argue with that. The doctors are good with it, too. I think we may be holding her back now.”

 

“Oh, hon…."

 

He shrugged, but he was smiling, just a bit. “Really. It’s okay. She needs to concentrate on herself now, not on us.”

 

Jjong rested his chin on my shoulder, staring down at the screen. “I’m not sure she’s ever concentrated on herself in a good way before.”

 

“She really hasn’t,” Kibum agreed, ruefully. “But that’s what they’re going to teach her. That’s what she needs to learn. That’s what’s going to get her healthy. She’s got the best doctors, and the best program, and…I guess we see. I think she already sounds a little more…I don’t know. Solid? Thoughtful? Like she’s thinking things through, and not just reacting to them. It’s good. I just…I just keep wondering what we could have done differently. How we could have—“

 

“Ki,” I said, deliberately cutting him off, “There is _nothing_ you could have done. You are a brilliant designer and singer and dancer and fashion maven. You are _not_ a psychologist. This was _way_ above your pay grade. Do not take this on yourself or so help me, I will beat you.”

 

“Only if you use the buffalo-hide flogger.”

 

My eyebrows shot up. “I…wait, hold on, how did you know we had one?!”

 

“I didn’t!” he giggled. “But I certainly do now.”

 

I narrowed my eyes at him. “I will consider it. If you are very, very good.”

 

“Shouldn’t that be if I am very bad?”

 

“Depends on your definition,” Jjong observed. We all hummed in thoughtful agreement. “And besides,” he went on, “If she’s using it on you, I get a break.”

 

I smacked his thigh. “I beg your pardon!”

 

Kibum giggled again. “Is she too much for you, old man?”

 

“You don’t even know!” Jjong sighed, rolling his eyes while at the same time intercepting my hands as I swatted at him. “This pregnancy thing? I can’t keep— ow!— I can’t keep up with her, man.”

 

“Oh my G-d will you _shut up_?!”

 

“You just have to do what you can, hyung,” Kibum nodded solemnly.

 

“I swear I am going to beat the both of you!”

 

Jjong pretended to consider. "That might be an idea, there, you know. What do you think?”

 

“I bet we could come to some kind of arrangement,” Kibum nodded. “But it’s two in the morning here, and I have to get on a plane in a few hours, so I’ll leave you to negotiate details.”

 

“Oh my G-d!” I snorted, finally getting in a decent hit on my lover’s head.

 

“ _Ow_! Sleep well, Kibum— we’ll see you tomorrow.” Jjong wrapped his arms around me, and grabbed my wrists for good measure.

 

“Travel safe, Ki!” I added, leaning down to bite the nearest finger that wasn’t mine.

 

Kibum was still laughing at Jjong’s squeal of mock-outrage as he disconnected.

 

 

 

 

 

It felt so good to be just _okay_ again. Normal.  

 

I had had a hideous moment of unstoppable rage as I lay on the tiles of the patio, watching Kibum and Silver and everyone else— plus the paramedics Eunji had called while I was still talking Clara down— swarming over her and panicking. _We were home safe_ , I was screaming inside. _Everything was over! It was finally all going to be okay!_ But the adult part of my brain kicked in soon enough, because the response to that was obvious: no, we absolutely weren’t going to be okay. Clara was headed for a breakdown with all the speed and inevitability of a train rushing down broken tracks. She desperately needed help: more help than any of us could give her. Once she got that, then and only then would we all “finally be okay.”

 

And now she was getting that help. Silver and Kibum had gotten her settled, and to my astonishment and delight, they’d even had a few sessions with a therapist themselves. They were talking to each other, and taking care of each other, and coming to terms with the fact that they’d done the only thing they could, and the best thing. I knew the both of them were scared that in the end, Clara might not come back. That she might turn over a completely new leaf and start again, never to return to them. But for the moment, they were working on taking each day as it came. They were coping. They were making their way back to normalcy.

 

But of course, yes, there were still loose ends of drama, still.

 

Minhyuk and Eunji, for one. Well, technically, two.

 

I had gone in early one morning I wasn’t actually scheduled, armed with coffee, doughnuts, and kimbap. I set everything out in our little breakroom, and tried very hard to keep my nails away from my teeth until I heard the key in the lock, and two voices chatting. There was a pause as they noticed the lights already on, and in a moment, they were in the doorway, staring at me. Then the sacrificial offerings. Then me again. 

 

I cleared my throat. “Er. Good morning.”

 

“Are you selling the shop?” Eunhee blurted out, face pale.

 

“Am I what? No! No, I’m not selling! Jesus. No. Uh. You wanna sit down or something?” Neither of them moved. 

 

“Just tell us,” Minhyuk said, his face unreadable.

 

I took a deep breath. “Well. As it happens…I’m, ah, I’m pregnant.”

 

Eunhee gasped, her hands flying to her mouth, and Minhyuk’s closed expression slid into a pronounced smirk. Wordlessly, he turned to Eunhee, and held out a hand.

 

She groaned. “Oh, son of a bitch,” she muttered, and, reaching into her pocket, pulled out a sheaf of won. 

 

My eyes narrowed. “The _fuck_ you did.”

 

Minhyuk was positively smug. “Sure did. And what’s more, I was right.”

 

“How much did you bet?!”

 

“A hundred thousand,” Eunhee ground out, counting the bills into Minhyuk’s palm.

 

“You bet him a hundred thousand won?!”

 

Her look was murderous. “Yes,” she all but hissed.

 

“What was the bet? Specifically?”

 

They both looked at me in confusion. “What?” Minhyuk cocked his head.

 

“Specifically. What did you say? Was was the wording?”

 

Eunhee eyed me suspiciously. “I said you were selling the shop. He said, ‘Nope. She’s having a baby.’ I lost.”

 

“Minhyuk, is this how it went down? You said ‘She’s having a baby’?”

 

He could tell he was in danger, but he couldn’t quite decide from which direction. “…Yes?” he said slowly.

 

I sat back. “Technically— and I’m going to leave this to you both to work out— you didn’t lose, Eunhee.”

 

A very evil smile began to bloom on her face, and she snatched back her money before Minhyuk’s fingers could wrap around it. “Ha!”

 

“What? _What_?” he demanded, looking back and forth between us.

 

I shrugged apologetically, if not sincerely. “Not _a_ baby,” I explained. “Twins.”

 

He gaped. “No. No way. That is— no! That is not remotely— _no_!”

 

I stood up, grabbing a doughnut and a beef kimbap as I sailed out of the room. “You kids have fun, now!”

 

“Oh, hey, congratulations!” Eunhee hugged me as I passed, and belatedly, Minhyuk joined her. I thanked them both, and made my exit as they began a most energetic argument.

 

In comparison, my parents— whom we had told the night before via FaceTime— were almost a denouement. Almost. We got both of them to sit down, because I was fairly sure there would be much excitement and jumping around, and I wasn’t mistaken. I not only got them to agree to come visit, but I strong-armed my dad into doubling down on his health regimen, as a little bird (Reg) had told me he’d been slacking. Jjong murmured his admiration of my ruthlessness into my ear as I went full guilt-trip: reminding both my parents that there would, come spring, be two new, tiny lives for them to shape and spoil, and decades of the same to follow. I left no quarter. I’m no fool.

 

Jjong’s mother and sister, though: I left it all to him. They both cried, and hugged each other, and all but leapt out of their chairs to be on the next train. We managed to convince them to wait long enough for us to put together a decent lunch in a couple of days, when we could all sit together and relax. Everyone was so gloriously emotional, and so happy, I felt like the worry and the fear and the unmitigated awfulness of the last few weeks was being counterbalanced: almost washed away by the sheer joy the news should have occasioned in the first place. It righted a lot of wrongs.

 

It may even have gotten, oh, just a little out of hand. 

 

It was easy— so, so easy— to let that joy seep out of my pores, just bubble around me. So much so that when Kibum finally made his appearance at our place with Taemin for dinner, after the long schlepp from California and a nice, restorative nap, his eyes went wide at seeing me.

 

“Good, good,” he mused, nodding. “This is what you should have looked like all along. You’re glowing.”

 

I blushed, melting back into Jjong’s arms. “I’m happy, Ki. I’m just happy.”

 

His smile was a little bittersweet. “You have every right to be.”

 

I held out a hand to him, and Jjong followed, and we folded him against us, petting and stroking, letting him know we loved him, and we were there for him. He relaxed against us with a soft sigh, letting the tension bleed out of his shoulders, his spine. He was thoughtful, now, but clear-eyed: his regrets and uncertainties weren’t torturing him any more. I remembered how he’d cried on the roof, all those months ago, and pressed kisses along his sharp cheekbone.

 

“Everything really is going to be all right, Ki,” I whispered.

 

He smiled a little wryly. “I believe you, noona,” he said. And kissed me.

 

Taemin, on the other end of the couch, giggled. “Isn’t this how we all got into trouble in the first place?”

 

Jjong, who was running his fingers through Kibum’s hair, laughed right back at him. “You’re just jealous she’s not kissing _you_ ,” he snarked.

 

I broke away from Kibum. “Are you pimping me out, mister?”

 

“You’re a very good kisser,” he observed mildly. Kibum made a noise of agreement.

 

“I’ve never kissed you,” Taemin said, quite neutrally, though with a shine in his eyes. 

 

I snuggled back against Jjong, my arms full of Kibum, and regarded Taemin thoughtfully. No one moved for a few long seconds. And then I smiled at him. 

 

“I’m game if you are.”

 

His grin was slow, teasing. Challenging. Even cocky. I burst out laughing.

 

“I think I like where this is going,” Kibum remarked.

 

I looked at all of them. “I can tell you where it’s not _staying_ and that’s _here_. Not the couch and definitely not the floor again, thank you. If we’re doing this, there is a perfectly good bed down the hall.”

 

“ _Are_ we doing this?” Taemin asked, his voice full of amusement, and the beginnings of some heat.

 

“As the lady said,” Jjong stroked my side, “I’m game if you are.”

 

I arched back, looking at him upside down. “You’re just hoping someone else can wear me out and give you a break.”

 

“I’m not sure _anyone_ can wear you out in your current state, my love,” he purred, his eyes full of fire, “but I’m more than willing to take part in the attempt.”

 

My heart turned over and started running, full-speed. I sat up, surprising Kibum.

 

“Bed. All of you. _Now_.”

 

I detoured to the bathroom on the way down the hall, and when I emerged in our bedroom, the sheer idiotic insanity of the situation hit me. What were we thinking? Had we not learnt a single bloody thing? Were we all as stupid as we looked?

 

Well, yes.

 

We stood there, looking at each other, no one quite willing to make the first move, but everyone waiting for it. Tension sang up my spine, and I bit my lip hard enough to bruise. 

 

And then Taemin hiccuped— his adorable tell for nervousness since childhood. And everyone burst out giggling. And I walked up to him with a grin, slid my hand up the back of his neck, and kissed him senseless.

 

He groaned into my mouth, his hands coming up to my waist instinctively. My smile curled against his lips as I wriggled closer, sliding my own hand up under his shirt, loving the smooth, rolling curves of his muscles, his spine. He felt delicious. He smelled delicious. He tasted delicious. Jjong could make all the jokes he wanted, but this hormone/off my meds thing was wild, and I fully intended to ride this wave all the way to the beach. Once the kids were here, all bets on sexy times were off. 

 

Kibum came closer, gathering up my hair in great fistsful, and sliding kisses along my nape. “Rules?”

 

I pulled back slightly, catching Taemin’s lip between my teeth for a moment until he gasped. “No deliberate blood, please. No water sports.” I soothed the teeth marks in Taemin’s lip with soft, quick strokes of my tongue.

 

“Hard limit!” Kibum singsonged in agreement.

 

“Toys?” from Jjong.

 

“Bring it,” I replied, snaking my hips back against Kibum, nibbling at Taemin’s neck.

 

“Anything else off the table?” Taemin shuddered, full-body, and pulled my top up over my head, dropping it on the floor.

 

“If I can’t answer for myself, defer to Jjong. He’ll know.” I reached over and pulled off my lover’s shirt, my mouth actually getting wet at the sight of his fucking gorgeous body. “Anything else, baby?”

 

Jjong shook his head, reaching in between my back and Kibum’s chest to undo my bra.

I aaaah’d happily at the sensation of air and skin against my breasts, arching back against Kibum, who had the rest of my clothes off in no time flat, and, so fast my head spun, threw me onto the bed. I shrieked as I bounced, and then he was on top of me, and I laughed and threw him over, pinning him. 

 

“You think you can just toss me around with impunity, Ki?”

 

He pretended to consider a moment. Then, “Yes,” he nodded, and pinned me again.

 

“Oh, you bitch!” I laughed, and yanked him down to kiss him. “Your clothes are annoying and you need to get rid of them. Boys!”

 

A delightful free-for-all ensued, with a good amount of giggling, snorting, and insanity, until there were four of us in rapidly-advancing states of arousal, naked on my bed. I've had worse beginnings to my evenings, I must say.

 

I closed my eyes as someone ran a hand up my spine, flat against my skin, to tangle in my hair and gently pull my head back. Lips on mine, and I wasn't sure whose. Not familiar, like Jjong’s, or sure and sharp like Kibum’s, but I resisted the impulse to check. I liked being just a little unsure, not making assumptions, just experiencing. There were more hands on my shoulders, and someone’s hair against my fingers, and I sighed in pleasure and reached for more skin. 

 

Lesson one: unless you are very sure where someone’s soft and delicate bits are, move gently.

 

There was a yelp, and I froze instantly, eyes snapping open. Taemin was sitting back on his heels, biting his lip, eyes very, very wide, and hands cradling his crotch.

 

“Oh, honey!” I exclaimed. “Did I hurt you?”

 

He opened his mouth, and a slightly strangled and wholly inarticulate sound came out. 

 

“I'm so sorry, baby,” I cooed, rolling closer to him and reaching out— very carefully. I batted my lashes up at him, running my fingers down his thigh. “Shall I make it up to you, poor baby?”

 

He took a deep, steadying breath, and cleared his throat. His eyes crackled with electricity, and he bit his beautiful lips as he smiled. “Well, now that I know some of what you can do with that mouth…I wouldn’t mind knowing more, I guess.”

 

“You _guess_?” I snorted, and sank my teeth into the meat of his thigh, chuckling at his stifled groan.

 

Kibum outright laughed at him, but reached for him, leaning back against pillows he’d shoved against the headboard and pulling him across his chest, running his hands across the younger man’s ribs and running kisses up the side of his neck until until Taemin’s eyes half-closed, and he watched me over the quick rise and fall of his own chest.

 

I held his gaze as I moved closer, my mouth wet with anticipation. Closer, closer, and then I let my eyes drop as I reached out to his twitching, glistening cock, hesitating one long, teasing moment with my fingers millimeters away, reflecting the heat of his skin, before I wrapped a firm hand around his shaft. He sighed out a rough, broken breath.

 

“Mmm,” I purred, “You may have fucked me with it, but I never got a good look, you know. I hope you don’t mind if I take my time?”

 

“Not at all,” he half-panted. “T-take all the time you need.” And then he groaned, as I ever-so-lightly brushed my lips along one throbbing vein. Mmm, his skin was so soft, like a peach, but he was so, so hard beneath it. I kissed his length slowly, languorously, darting looks up at him slyly, loving the way his teeth worked his lower lip, and colour bloomed across his cheekbones and down his throat. So, so slowly, I traced every vein, every fold, licking and kissing my way from the base up the shaft.

 

Kibum, too, watched me, his eyes predatory as his fingers roamed Taemin’s now-twitching body, brushing closer to his nipples but never quite touching them. I paid attention a moment: the closer I got to the head of Taemin’s cock, the closer Kibum got to his nipples. Oh, this was going to be delicious. I smiled. Kibum smiled back. Taemin didn’t stand a chance.

 

And then there were lips against the small of my back, and I hissed, shivering as my lover’s hands kneaded my flesh, and his mouth was hot on my spine.

 

I closed my eyes again, sighing— but that wouldn’t do. I had a job, here. 

 

I looked deep into Taemin’s eyes as I opened my mouth, and took in the head of his cock, circling the flat of my tongue against that so-sensitive spot underneath.

 

He moaned— and then Kibum’s fingers rolled his so-sensitive nipples, and his whole body arched and he shouted. I hummed, pleased, pulling another whimper out of him at the vibration in my throat. He was so easy, so eager. Kibum’s hands knew his body so well, and in no time, his eyes were glazed, muscles jerking. I didn’t think we’d have long before he exploded. He was so deliciously responsive. 

 

Taemin wasn’t a monk by any stretch of the imagination, but I knew he’d been single for a few months, now, and I imagined it might have been a while since the last time he’d gotten a blow job. I should make this special.

 

So I looked up at him, pulled off, got deliberately onto my hands and knees over his body, licked my lips, and slowly, slowly, swallowed him back down. Down. Down. 

 

I’ve never had that much of a gag reflex, to Jjong’s (and every previous boyfriend’s) delight. But none of Jjong’s brothers knew that. Well, not until now. There was an admiring whistle from Kibum as I swallowed down Taemin’s entire length, and from Taemin, choked, panting curses. Oh, this was perfect, just—

 

I nearly choked, my nails clawed into the bed as Kibum’s hands descended on my head just as Jjong’s fingers drove deep into my body. It was my turn to groan— almost scream, but I didn’t have the breath, almost didn’t have the synapses. 

 

And then…fuck, _fuck_ , Jjong! He lay down, slid between my thighs, and his mouth found my clit as his fingers worked maddeningly inside me. I knew— knew— it was a competition now as to whether I could get Taemin off before Jjong got me off— with Kibum playing both sides— but there was no possible way I retained any finesse, any technique. But I didn’t need to. Taemin’s voice raised in pitch and volume, his hips jerking up, my own body writhing and my own cries gagged by his cock, and there was a roaring in my ears as I felt him cry out, his hands shoving my head down while Jjong’s fingers plunged deeper, deeper, harder, and his mouth, his teeth, his tongue— right there that’s it fuck yeahTHATYEAHYESSS— I screamed as Taemin convulsed down my throat, and he may have screamed too— and my vision blackened as I fell over, gasping, coughing, panting, throbbing.

 

Jjong was smiling in the most sly, languid way, right into my heavy-lidded eyes, as he raised his  wet fingers to his lips and sucked them clean. I moaned softly— G-d, he was so fucking hot. My eyes slipped closed, euphoria still swirling rhythmically through me. Fuck, they were _all_ so hot.

 

“I am the luckiest woman in the world,” I sighed lazily, pushing my head against whoever’s hand was playing with my hair.

 

“I think Jjong-hyung may be the luckiest man,” Taemin said, still slightly breathless. “I had no idea you could do that.”

 

“Well, it never really came up, did it?” I replied.

 

“It certainly came up today,” Kibum snarked.

 

There were general giggles all around. Jjong rolled over and put his chin on my stomach, looking up at me through his sweet, long lashes.

 

“Don’t tell me you’re done for the night, darling. I know better.”

 

I blushed. “Well.”

 

He reached up a finger— still damp, dammit!— and traced it along my skin. “Nope. I know you’re not done.”

 

“Jjong!” I said admonishingly, even as I felt my body twitch. “I am not a godless heathen. I have my manners.”

 

“You also have a sex drive for half a battalion.” I felt his smile all through my muscles. “And besides: Kibum and I certainly aren’t done, are we?”

 

I swallowed, my heart rate picking up. Oh, Jesus. 

 

Kibum pretended to muse. “I believe you’re quite right, here. Taeminnie, you take a break for a few, okay?”

 

The maknae giggled, and obligingly moved over to the side of the bed. “This should be fun.”

 

“Oh, you have no idea,” Jjong grinned, his eyes narrowed. “Her current record is eight orgasms in one night. But that was with just me. I think, team effort, we can do better than that.”

 

Kibum sat up, cracking his knuckles, his own grin just as wicked. “Oh, yes. Much, much better.”

 

I looked back and forth between the two of them— the three of them!— and wondered if my expression was as evil as theirs as I stretched luxuriantly, anticipating. 

 

“Bring it on, boys.”

 

 

 

 

 

You know, one of the things that’s kept this group together so long and kept them so close is that they really, honestly know how to work together. I mean, they live and breathe teamwork, and they really know how to combine their efforts towards a goal together. It’s honestly heartwarming.

 

It’s also why I sort of lost count somewhere after thirteen.

 

And it wasn’t all about me, I hasten to add. No, no. There was some incredibly hot play between Jjong and Kibum that lit me up as if they were physically touching me. Same for the time— times?— that Kibum and Taemin went after each other: surprisingly, with Taemin giving as good as he got. Kibum really did know how to read the younger man, and this was not one of those times Taemin needed to be taken apart and put back together. He was snarky and playful and eager, and I knew many of the bite marks on my skin the next day would be his.

 

Not to say he didn’t have that graceful beauty in yielding. I looked up at one moment, watching him on his knees in front of Jjong, both of them panting. Jjong had just watched me perform my newly-shared party trick on Kibum, and now he was practically snarling, body taut with aggression and lust as he reached out and grabbed Taemin by his hair, roughly pulling him close, and staring into his eyes, his teeth bared. The maknae’s body shook, hard, as his eyes went wide and his limbs went pliant and Jjong yanked him that last inch and crashed into him with a kiss made of fire and hunger. 

 

I moaned, biting down hard on my fingers. G-d, the two of them were gorgeous together. Just watching them fired my nerve endings up again, and I could feel a sound of approval rumbling through Ki’s frame. I had already watched Kibum fuck Taemin’s brains out while Jjong stroked Taemin’s cock until the latter nearly screamed, his orgasm going on and on until he had to beg Kibum to just come already, he was so oversensitive. Kibum was only too happy to oblige, and we all made much of Taemin, who lay there, panting happily and dreamily, surrounded by warm hands and gentle kisses, basking in the attention so much we cooed and called him “Kitten.” He nipped my hand and I giggled.

 

But now— after various other delightful interludes— it was Jjong’s turn with their youngest, and watching the two of them together was just gorgeous. Taemin was wholly lost in himself, his eyes now sliding closed and his hands curled against Jjong’s sweat-sheened skin as the kiss deepened further, their bodies twining together. It was one of the most beautiful things I’d ever seen, and, despite the fact that I had, as mentioned, lost count of how many times they’d gotten me off, I found myself biting my lip and breathing faster. 

 

Without warning, Taemin made a noise of need and want, and pushed at Jjong’s chest, setting him back on his heels. But he didn’t break the kiss, leaning forward, and crawling onto Jjong’s lap, grinding his hips against Jjong’s body until the both of them moaned. 

 

Jjong’s fingers clawed down Taemin’s spine, leaving bright, pale trails in the skin there, until one hand gripped Taemin’s ass hard, while the other teasingly flicked against his entrance, still glistening with lube.

 

Taemin moaned into Jjong’s mouth, wrapping his arms around Jjong’s shoulders and grinding harder. I saw Jjong’s teeth as he kissed back harder, his face almost a snarl. And then, then, his fingers slowly, slowly pushed into Taemin, whose head dropped back as he positively _wailed_.

 

It was getting hard to breathe, and Kibum’s hands began to roam my body, fogging my brain. Against my thigh as I lay back atop his body, I felt him beginning to harden again. I couldn’t blame him. Fuck, how were they all so fucking _hot_?

 

Jjong’s teeth sank into Taemin’s throat as Taemin moved faster, fucking himself down onto Jjong’s fingers and up against the other man’s cock. His own body was so fluid, so graceful, it was like watching art move, as if his spine and hips couldn’t possibly be made of bone. His face was so flushed, and his expression so blind with lust I wondered if I could come just watching him.

 

Taemin’s body began to shake, his moans coming staccato, now, his grip failing. Jjong’s free hand moved up his back to support him, while his other hand— he changed his angle just slightly, the look on his face predatory and expectant as he drove in harder, harder, deeper! And Taemin cried out, long and broken, falling back against Jjong’s arm as he came, shooting across his own stomach in white streaks as his limbs went completely boneless and his beautiful face utterly slack.

 

I was panting now, staring at the rise and fall of Taemin’s chest after Jjong laid him down carefully on the bed. 

 

“Jesus Christ,” I breathed, my heart pounding.

 

Then I looked at Jjong, and my heart nearly stopped altogether.

 

He was so, so hard, kneeling there, with his reddened cock curved up against his stomach. His eyes, though— I could have sworn they were glowing in the dim light of our bedroom as he stared at me, even more predatory than he’d been just a few seconds before. He was animal, now, lust and need and instinct, and as if he hadn’t already fucked me multiple times that night, I was throbbing with the need for him to fuck me again. I rose up on my knees, facing him, feeling how incredibly, uncontrollably wet I was. I reached for him.

 

He pulled me up against him, and I hissed, the scent of him: sex and sweat and skin and overpowering arousal. But before I could get my mouth to his, he smiled.

 

“I remember a suggestion you liked,” he growled, his breathing fast. “I think you still want it.”

 

I was too dazed, too gone to put together what he meant, but I heard Kibum make a sound of understanding behind me, and it clicked. “Yeah,” I panted. “Fuck yeah. Do it. Fuck, _please_ do it!”

 

Kibum had already anticipated, and handed Jjong the lube. It had been new— now it was running to empty. “Fuck,” I panted again.

 

Jjong turned me around, then, and while my brain was still whirling, his slick fingers were on my ass, teasing, promising.

 

His mouth moved up the side of my throat, his lips whispering into my skin. “Relax, baby. I know it’s been a while. Just relax, I’ve got you. You know it’s gonna feel so good.”

 

I was gasping soft curses, one arm up behind me, fingers in his hair, my other hand digging into his thigh, and my voice rising to tiny, broken cries as he pushed in, slowly, slowly. My heart was going to shake my body apart— it hurt, it hurt, but G-d, I needed—!

 

He worked slowly, but steadily, and sweat started running down my spine, off my hairline, between my breasts. I dropped my head back to his shoulder, hissing as he added more lube and another finger, my legs starting to shake. His other hand wrapped around my stomach, keeping me steady.

 

And then there was another voice ghosting against my skin as Kibum knelt in front of me, whispering encouragement, and sliding his fingers down to my clit.

 

“Oh my G-d oh my G-d Oh my G-d,” I gasped, the words becoming a chant as the two of them  worked me, until I couldn’t feel the bed under my knees or Jjong against my back.

 

And then the blindfold.

 

I don’t know who put it on me, who tied it across my eyes, though I supposed only Taemin was unoccupied. I just know I started trembling uncontrollably, my teeth chattering as my chanting started to turn to begging.

 

“You ready, baby?” Jjong’s voice a breathless rumble in my ear, his chest slick against my spine.

 

“Yesyesyes please just— please—“

 

I felt the flat head of his cock against me. With the blindfold, it loomed in my memory and in my senses, impossibly huge, and I whimpered. Another voice whispered into my other ear, in front of me, fingers stroking my face. “Shhhhh, shhhh— we have you. It’s good, it’s gonna be so good, shhhhh.”

 

And Jjong started to push in.

 

I fell forward over the arm around my waist, my hands closing on skin over sharp shoulders as I moaned, high and thin. There were hands on my back, on my breasts, between my thighs, hands everywhere, touch everywhere, and all the feelings were overwhelming. Slowly, slowly, Jjong pushed more and more inside me until I was gasping, the blindfold getting wet, even my skin shaking. 

 

“You good, baby? You need to stop?”

 

“No no no no— don’t stop, don’t stop—“

 

“You look so fucking gorgeous right now. _G-d_!”

 

And then I was being pushed back, slowly, slowly, so full, more than I could take, and more, and more, until I sobbed, and the fingers on my clit worked faster, distracting me, easing me, until I knew he was all inside me— “Oh, G-d, oh my G-d….”

 

“Fuck…fuck you look so good….”

 

“Don’t stop,” I begged, “please, please, please!”

 

“You sure, baby?”

 

“Yesyesyesyesdon’t stop don’t stop—!”

 

And the bed shifted, and I felt myself being moved, my legs pulled up and spread wide, and—

 

I stiffened in shock, all sound driven out of me, and all the hands again stroked and soothed, and I clutched and pulled and slowly, slowly— more and more and more inside me and skin under my nails as I tried to hold on hold on and—

 

I was going to die. I was going to be torn apart between the two of them and exploded and shattered and there would be nothing left. I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t beg, I couldn’t anything. So full, so filled, so nothing but sensation, overwhelming. I was on fire, I was exploding, I couldn’t even cry.

 

Then they started to move.

 

Pain, pain, pain why did I ever say yes I can’t I can’t no stop please please stop you’re tearing me please no stop— 

 

A breathless voice in my ear: “Fuck, _fuck_ you look so good— you feel incredible! So fucking hot, _fuck_ , fuck— so tight, Jesus!” Lips on my skin, a hand curving around my breast, a mouth on mine. There was noise and confusion in my brain, and somehow, somehow, the pain— it didn’t hurt less, but it felt good. Did it hurt less? I don’t— fuck…oh fuck…I could feel them— I could feel them!— moving against each other inside me, and the sounds coming out of my mouth were filthy and needy and _G-d_!

 

Skin and heat everywhere, no up and no down and no gravity just this, just this, just being fucked so full I’d feel empty forever after this oh G-d yes yes this is— yes! I had never felt so used, so beautiful in my life, so powerful, so everything. I wasn’t in my body, I was so much more than my body, I was nothing and all things and the tandem breathing around me was mine, the two bodies against and so deep inside me were mine and everything everywhere was mine and I dropped my head back and cried out in power and wonder.

 

I was flying, I was flying in air and in darkness and no one could touch me and I was drowning in flesh. I clutched at skin and muscle, drank down their cries, writhed and pulled and _flew,_ and they were with me, and part of me, and I was part of them and everything and I flew and the sun rose and there were clouds and the ocean beneath me and I flew! On and on and the sun set and stars burned cold through me and the sun rose again and there were mountains and they were coming closer— hands on my skin and voices in my ears and the mountains getting higher and higher and I flew higher and higher and the pain and the pleasure were under me, carrying me, filling me so G-d damned full and higher and higher and mountains rising and wind against me and skin and hearts and voices crying out and 

 

And my wings exploded wide from my body, soaring, spiraling, and there was screaming and ecstasy and sunlight and my heart pounding through me in waves so powerful I felt it in my lips and my eyes and everything _everything!_

 

I was floating. I was effortless. I was pain and astonishment and waves of endorphins and sunlight on water, and there were hands laying me down, hands stroking me, hands covering me— and they felt like feathers.


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We loved everyone every tiny last bit as much, but right now, we were too focussed on each other, and on these last few weeks before we were forever more than two. We were nesting.

I was too tired to move. Too warm, too comfy, and too, too tired.

 

But it was late, and Jjong had obviously lost track of time again, and someone needed to get him to bed. And since he’d obviously turned his phone to silent, it looked like that was going to have to be me.

 

I groaned, pushing myself to the edge of the couch and planting myself firmly before I attempted to stand up. True to my lovely friends’ horror stories, the energy that had returned to me in my second trimester was now slipping away again as I moved into my third. Minhyuk and Eunhee were getting more and more firm about my schedule changing to “whenever you feel good enough to come in,” and my resistance was lowering by the day. I could still do paperwork and orders and make decisions— when the baby brain wasn’t too confounding— but lately, by the time I got the ever-increasing bulk of the three of us up and dressed and presentable, all I really wanted to do was sit on the couch with a comfy blanket and nap. So there was a lot of working from home.

 

Jjong was all over that plan, lovingly encouraging me to rest as much as possible. His mother and sister had been coming up more and more often, and their incredible, soothing presences made my life enormously easier. The both of them would shop and cook for me, and they kept the freezer well-stocked for those times when Jisoo wasn’t around with soup. It wasn’t that Jjong couldn’t cook, but after the release of his solo album— a rousing success, as ever— it was Skylight’s turn, and he was gifting them with two songs. Which had to be perfect. Which was why he was still down in the basement studio at 1am.

 

I whined. What I really needed right now was one of those recliners they had for the elderly— the ones that stand you up? Maybe I wouldn’t be so cranky then. Except I’d sort of feel like a total wuss, and I needed to be building my endurance. Life wasn’t going to be getting any easier with two tiny, helpless humans dependent on me 24/7. Thank G-d for everyone who had, when I’d raised any worries, looked at me in mild shock and exclaimed, “But we’re all here to help you— don’t be silly!” Jisoo and Eunji, and even Hyoseong, who by now had become completely indispensable to the both of them, were aghast at my concerns, as if they were a personal affront to their sense of the order of the Universe. Even Yeonseo and Amy had matter-of-factly discussed coming to help me as if it were simply part of their daily routine. Everyone knew my own mother wouldn’t be able to be with me the entire pregnancy, and everyone felt compelled to step in. Which was lovely.

 

Except none of them were here right now to help leverage my wildly off-balanced rotundity out of this damned sofa.

 

We’d toyed with the idea of getting a dog or a cat the last few months. (I was pushing for one of each, myself.) Something for the kids to bond with as they grew up. I was glad at the moment I didn’t have to walk a dog, obviously, but it would have been nice to have someone to bitch to about my ridiculous situation. Bonus points: they wouldn’t be able to regale me with pregnancy horror stories. Just curl up with me and purr. Or wag. That sounded very nice for these nights when my darling beloved forgot what time it was. And at this precise moment, it made me laugh to think of a dog watching my attempts at rising and thinking, “Man, I have twice as many legs and I still manage. What’s your excuse?”

 

With some very inelegant noises, I finally managed to get myself upright, pressing my hands into my back as everything shifted. I kept imagining that first time I would get out of bed after the twins were born: I’d probably launch myself at the ceiling through sheer overcompensation. I hoped someone would catch it on video.

 

No one had to remind me to stay warm, now, or check that I was wearing enough layers. I had on thigh-high wool socks and a heavy dress and a cardigan, and I still stopped to wrap a shawl around me before I slipped my feet into the small boats I now had to use for slippers. Thank G-d Jjong liked the flat warm, too. And even better: he wasn’t quite a furnace, but he was always toasty in bed. I chuckled: we may have slowed down some in the crazy sex department, but our snuggle game was ridiculously strong.

 

I mean, I missed the all-sex-all-the-time feelings of the first trimester, but considering how ungainly and awkward movement was now, I was okay with slowing down a little, there. We had all come to the conclusion that a little playing around was going to stay on our list of recreational activities (probably not as much for Jinki, but maybe one day, in some small manner, for Jisoo), but Jjong and I found ourselves sort of…drawing into ourselves, in that regard. We loved everyone every tiny last bit as much, but right now, we were too focussed on each other, and on these last few weeks before we were forever more than two. We were nesting. What everyone else may have got up to without us, I didn’t ask. 

 

Taemin had met a lovely young woman, and they’d been dating casually for a few weeks now. He hadn’t brought her round, yet, but he seemed to think she had some long-term potential. The funny part was, of course, that someone would make some sly, suggestive comment that made us all remember our mutual escapades and laugh, and I could see this look of mild panic in his eyes as he tried to figure out exactly what to share about such things. Or if. A couple of times, I have a feeling I watched him trying to weigh her acceptance of a possible future role in such shenanigans, and then watched his brain overload and pop several gears and springs at once. Poor baby. His was not a normal family by any means.

 

The building was quiet this time of night. Almost everyone was sleeping. I didn’t have to worry that Clara and Silver and Kibum were staying up half the night fighting, which was nice. Clara had finished her in-patient treatment program, and gone on to an out-patient one. She was home with her family, and apparently doing super-well. Kibum and Silver were walking the fine line between wanting to keep her close, and wanting to give her space. I wanted to believe she’d come back to them, but only time would tell. She seemed, from the things Kibum passed along, to just assume she’d come back one day. She was changing, I could hear it even second-hand. She just sounded a lot more grounded. Like she was forgiving herself a lot more. And living more in the moment. At the same time, though, she was also beginning to look at a life beyond modeling, and to my astonishment, the photos she was taking in the Californian landscape showed exactly where her next career might lie: she had an amazing eye, and the Gods of Timing smiled on her. Her lovers beamed with pride, even as they worried about their future as a trio. 

 

The basement was especially quiet. The soft hall lights were on, and the light in the last recording room. It was brighter, now, since the frosted glass had been replaced with clear after a very, very excited Jaxi had slammed it too hard and cracked it. And spent the next two weeks straight apologising for it, until Jinki told him if he didn’t stop, he was going headfirst through the window over the soundboard, and could pay for that, too. Jaxi turned bright red around the ears and didn’t say a word after that. But there were five excellent pizzas delivered— one to each of our apartments— that very night. They even left the mayo off ours. I was very grateful.

 

Jjong was, indeed, working late. He had his headphones on, and his sheet music in front of him, and that look on his face that said he was completely lost in what he was doing: existing only as an instrument that produced that voice. That beautiful, soothing, honey-sweet voice.

 

Or maybe not so lost: his eyes suddenly opened, and he saw me watching him through the door. And he smiled. And I melted.

 

How in the name of G-d was it possible I could love any human so much? How could anyone look at me the way he did? How did we ever get so lucky? We just stood there and stared at each other like lovesick Holsteins for what seemed an hour before he shook his now dark-silver hair out of his eyes and got up to open the door. I opened my mouth to speak, but then he slid his arms round me and laid his head against mine and breathed in deep, following it with the most contented sigh I’d ever heard. I melted even more. How I still maintained human form, I’ll never know.

 

“It’s late, love,” I whispered. “Come to bed.”

 

“I will,” he said back, face pressed into my hair. “I’m sorry I made you come all the way down here.”

 

“Mm…I can’t sit on the couch all day, baby. And I missed you.”

 

He hugged me even closer, his hands splaying on my spine. “I missed you, too. And I’m almost done.” He pulled back, a smile on his lips and a shine in his eyes. “Come in.”

 

He stepped back and took my hands, and, walking backwards, led me into the room. Gently, he helped me sit on the stool he’d just vacated. Without a word, he pulled out a larger set of headphones, and put them not on my ears, but over the swell of our babies, nestled together inside me. He put another set, then, on my head, and picked up his own to put them on again. And then he pulled the mic down on its boom, and to my surprise, knelt in front of me.

 

My eyes began to sting. As he pressed a button on the control box beside him, and music filled my ears, tears spilled over, rolling down my face. I knew this song: a Korean lullaby he’d sung years ago with his brothers. But he’d tweaked the lyrics and added a final verse: he had made it ours.

 

And he sang it to our children: 

 

 

When mommy goes to the island’s shore

To gather oysters

The children stay together to watch the house

They lie down at the ocean’s lullaby

And slowly fall to sleep

 

The children sleep soundly

But the cries of the gulls make mother nervous

She puts her half-full basket on her head

And dashes home through the sand

 

The sun sets and the stars come out

Mommy and Daddy watch over as well

Two little girls sleep peacefully 

And the ocean sings them songs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, thank you for bearing with me through my first-ever posted fic. It's been an interesting exercise, and I've thoroughly enjoyed it. No, scratch that: I've loved it. I've been working on a novel, and stalled so long I was wondering if I even could still write. I feel like I've answered that question for myself.
> 
> While this particular part of the story is done, I've dreamed up quite a long arc for these characters, long down the years. So I'm quite certain I'll be returning to this particular universe one day. For the moment, however, I've already begun writing something absolutely polar-opposite, and I'll start posting that soon. Watch this space.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who read along, clicked kudos, and left wonderful comments. I'm glad you had fun!
> 
> And it's still all Ninkakitty's fault.

**Author's Note:**

> Blame Ninkakitty.


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